His Little Games
by NotebooksAndCoffee
Summary: He points a finger at me and looks me up and down. "I'm guessing black dress, fitting, but not too tight. No heels." He shakes his head with mock disapproval. "It's a shame, you'd look better in green." He walks towards the elevator then spins around and grins at me. "And heels." *** Takes place after 6x09, from there I've mostly veered off from canon into my own take on Jisbon.
1. Chapter 1

_Thought of the day 10/01/17 (or 01/10/17 for all you 'Murricans): I'd like to clarify that my ideal FF plot would just be pages and pages and pages of me making out with Simon Baker. I think everyone should be grateful that I didn't succumb to that particular whim._

 **Disclaimer: Don't own any characters, don't own any borrowed plot lines. Also I'm from New Zealand and know very little about American cities or towns or laws so excuse any mistakes I may make!**

 **A/N: This takes place after Jane returns from the island, and after Abbott has agreed to all his terms. I've stuck to most of the canon of 6x09 with just a few changes, for instance in this universe, Jane has demanded that the whole CBI team work for the FBI. Also, excuse poor formatting, didn't quite copy over as I expected. I'm working on it.**

 **I will probably edit this over the next few days, as well as add Chapter 2. Thanks for reading!  
**

* * *

I sit at my desk aimlessly staring at the list of suspects. So much desk work in this job, sometimes I miss the constant adventures with Jane, even if he does infuriate me.

"Bored?" a voice comes from behind me.

"A little," I say, turning to face Jane.

"They'll get used to me soon, then we can go out and play," he says to me with a grin.

It has only been a week since Abbott agreed to Jane's terms. I was one of the terms. I can't say that I am too upset to be here rather than Washington, but I had a picture of everything going back to the way things were in California. Fun, games. Not that I'd admit that to Jane.

"Who says I want to play?" I ask him with a smile.

"Oh, you don't fool me, Lisbon," he replies, taking a sip of tea. I look down at his feet. He is wearing the socks I gave him.

"They're great socks," he says. He puts a hand on my shoulder and peers down at me. "Let's solve this case."

"What do you think I'm doing?" I ask him. I turn back to my list and stare at it as if something is going to jump out at me. He takes his hand from my shoulder and I hear him walk away.

"It would be a lot more fun if you came with me," he calls from across the room. I pause for a moment, then nearly leap from my chair and stride after him.

* * *

We meet with Karen Graham at a small coffee shop in Chinatown. Odd place, but it's probably relevant in some roundabout way, knowing Jane. Karen is one of the victim's close friends, and I suspect she was his lover.

As we walk over to where she is sitting, I ask him about the cafe.

"Good tea, I hear," he replies.

We sit down at the table opposite Karen.

"This is Teresa Lisbon," Jane says to her. He winks. "She's a real cop, I'm just a consultant."

Karen is beautiful, long blonde hair, dark blue eyes. And she looks at Jane like he is the only person in the cafe.

"I'm sure you're much more than just a consultant," she tells him with a shy smile.

"Oh, you have no idea," he says.

He rests his arm on the back of my chair. I lean forward so that we are not touching.

"Was there anyone that would have wanted to hurt James Redmond?" I ask her.

"No," she replies. "We all loved him. Everyone loved him."

"And is it true that you were in a relationship with the victim?" I continue.

She frowns. "No. Well, yes. A long time ago. We are- were just good friends. I go to school with his sister."

Jane moves his arm from my chair and drinks from his teacup. "Mmm, good tea here. I must get some more."

He stands and walks up to the counter. I hear him asking the man at the till what the tea is, where it's from.

"I'm sorry Karen, but I have to ask. Where were you on the night James was killed?"

Karen opens her mouth slightly in surprise. "At my parent's place. They had people over, six of them. They can all confirm I was there. What is this, am I a suspect?"

I shake my head. "Just covering all my bases."

She looks at me suspiciously, then her expression changes. She turns and looks over at Jane.

"Are you two...?"

"No," I say, much too loudly, screwing my nose up. "God, no."

She lowers her eyes and smiles a little. "Oh. Cool."

Jane returns, a metal jar in his hands. He places it on the table. "Imported from China. Good stuff," he tells us. Karen smiles at him.

"Are we done here?" I ask Jane, trying to hide my impatience. This is going nowhere.

"Ahhh," he says, looking around him then settling his eyes on Karen. "Yes, almost. Will you give me a moment alone with Karen?"

"Fine," I say. I storm off back to the car. _Fine, don't tell me what you're up to. Nothing new._

* * *

He opens the passenger door and slides in. I am busy fuming, glaring down at the steering wheel.

"Are we going to go?" he asks eventually.

I snap out of my thoughts. "Yeah. Yes. We're going."

We are silent for a few minutes. I concentrate on the road, letting my mind calm itself. He is humming a tune I don't recognize and I begin to settle down. I've missed him, no matter how angry he makes me.

"This is nice," he says, looking at me.

"What is?" I ask.

"You and me, back on the road. Solving crimes, saving lives."

I laugh, despite myself. "It's not bad."

"You shouldn't get so mad at me, Lisbon."

"Who says I'm mad?"

He shrugs and look back out the window. "You were mad."

I take my eyes off the road for a second and look at him with a frown.

"Why would I be mad? It was a basic questioning, much more civil than I'm used to from you."

He meets my eye, that look again, the look that tells me that he's up to something.

"You were mad at me. You're always mad at me." He looks away again. "But you love it."

"Well, what did you learn. What were we doing there. Come on, tell me."

He laughs. "We were just questioning her. Like you said."

"Come on, Jane," I am smiling now. But I want to know. I want to be a real part of his plan, not just his oblivious sidekick. When will he start opening up to me.

"All will be revealed, Lisbon," he says. "All will be revealed."

* * *

We are in the entrance of the building running over our plans for the day. Just as we are about to leave, Jane's phone rings and he answers it with a smile in his voice.

"Karen. Good to hear from you. Are we on for tonight?" He pauses as he listens to her reply. "Very good, I'll meet you there at eight. Looking forward to it."

"You asked her on a date?" Kim Fischer says, giving him an incredulous look. Jane shrugs.

"Yes, why not? She's a beautiful woman."

I assume he has asked this woman on a date to find out more about the case, but I never know with Jane. Maybe is ready to start dating again.

"Well, good for you, I guess," Fischer says. She raises her eyebrows at me.

"Are you jealous, Kim?" he asks her with a smile. She glares at him but doesn't reply. I wonder again what happened between them on the island. I've asked twice now, but it doesn't seem prudent to ask a third time.

"She's jealous," he says to me as we walk away. Then he turns, calling back to her- "You're jealous, Kim, don't deny it!"

I laugh. "Come on, Jane. Let's go."

As we get into the car I ask him "Why don't you call her Fischer? Are you just winding her up?"

He considers me for a while, then turns away.

"Because I met her as Kim. I'd like to keep thinking of her as Kim. I don't like Agent Fischer nearly as much."

"But you like Kim?" I ask.

"Yes. I did like Kim," he replies, smiling a little.

I can't imagine Fischer as someone that Jane would particularly like. Maybe she was different on the island, like he said. She would have had to been very different indeed.

"So, your date," I say. "What's your angle?"

"No angle," he says. Then quieter. "No angle at all."

"I wish you wouldn't lie to me," I sigh. I am sick of this. After two years away, after tricking the FBI into hiring me and forcing me to move and start my life over yet again, I deserve more respect.

"Why do you think I'm lying? Am I not allowed to go on a date?" he asks me. But he is smiling that smile that reminds me of every time he hid his plans from me, lied to me, made me look foolish.

"I don't believe you'd date someone involved in our case just for fun," I say to him, starting the car.

"I don't meet a lot of other people, Lisbon. Would you rather I dated someone from the FBI?"

He is staring at me, but I don't meet his eye as I pull out of the parking lot.

"I don't care who you date, Jane," I reply. We drive out into the sun and pull onto the main street.

"I don't believe you," he says.

He stares out the window as we drive. I wonder what he is thinking, as I always do. Perhaps he is just admiring the view, perhaps he is still caught up in his past. I suppose it's a question that I'll never know the answer to. As we near our destination he turns to me.

"Would you prefer it if I called you Teresa? Would it help you stop wondering about Kim?"

"I do not wonder about Kim. About Fischer," I say indignantly. "And no, I don't care what you call me."

"Liar," he says, grinning.

I can't help but flash him a smile in return. "Why, do you like Teresa better than Agent Lisbon?"

He feigns hurt and puts his hand to his heart. "No, of course not. I like them both equally. I like them both quite a lot, actually."

We pull into the driveway of the victims apartment.

"You know, they called me Paddy on the island." He shrugs. "I kind of liked it."

I look at him once I've turned off the engine. He doesn't wear a vest anymore. He wears his shirt unbuttoned at the top revealing part of a tanned chest. These days he seems happy sometimes, but he is still holding something back.

We get out of the car and walk side by side to the door. He knocks, and looks at me with that smile. Helen Redmond, the victim's sister opens the door.

"I'm not calling you Paddy," I say to him as he leads me in, his hand on the small of my back.

He laughs. "Very well."

* * *

I don't see Jane until late afternoon the next day. He is overly cheerful, which immediately puts me in a bad mood. And not only because I suddenly remember he had a date last night.

"Nice of you to turn up," I say to him.

"I knew you'd be lost without me," he says back.

I roll my eyes and we head towards the bullpen. He's such a child.

"How was your date," Fischer asks when we walk in. She doesn't look up from her desk but she is frowning slightly.

"Very good. I had the ribs. I highly recommend them."

I make a face and Jane shoots me a quizzical look.

"You don't like ribs?" he asks me, eyebrows raised. I don't reply.

"Well, come on, we have a ball to go to," Jane tells us both with a smirk.

Fischer looks up from her paperwork. "Oh yes?"

"Yes. It starts in a few hours. I assume you girls will need a bit of time to spruce up?"

Ugh. Another plot. The last thing I feel like doing is going to a ball with Kim Fischer. Or Jane, I guess.

"Well, if you've got another plan that's going to get me in trouble, then count me out. Take Lisbon."

I sigh inwardly with relief. I don't hate the woman, but if I'm going to be part of Jane's games again then I don't want to be watched, to be judged. Not by her.

"But I need backup. Come on Kim, I know you look beautiful in a dress," he tells her. Then he gives her a suggestive glance. "I remember, you know."

She looks at him with a little smile and I glare down at my shoes.

"You can take Rigsby," Fischer says.

"He doesn't nearly look so good in a dress," Jane says with a frown.

"Fine, take Van Pelt too," she says, still smiling. Then she looks at me, as if just remembering that I am here. "And Lisbon. I'm sure she looks good in a dress."

Jane looks me up and down and grins. "Oh yes, she certainly does."

I am sure I am blushing a little, and I cannot suppress a twinge of jealousy. He likes her. Jane likes Fischer. Well, he likes Kim. Maybe he is trying to get her to be the Kim that he met on the island.

Jane shoots a petulant look at Fischer. "Well, if you're sure you won't come then I guess we can solve the case without you."

She gives him a sarcastic smile and motions for us to leave.

* * *

"Why are we going to a ball?" I ask Jane.

"For fun, for dancing!" he replies.

"What if I don't want to go, did you think of that?" I say to him.

He frowns at me and shakes his head. "Its for work, Lisbon. Be professional."

"Very funny."

He points a finger at me and looks me up and down. "I'm guessing black dress, fitting, but not too tight. No heels." He shakes his head with mock disapproval. "It's a shame, you'd look better in green."

He walks towards the elevator then spins around and grins at me. "And heels."

I laugh and go back to Fischer's desk.

She looks up as I draw near. "So you'll keep an eye on him?"

"I'll try," I say.

"I suppose it's fun," she says. "Going along with his plans."

I shrug. "Sometimes. Sometimes not so much."

She smiles. "I see. Well, I hope it is this time. I hope it's productive at least."

She motions for me to sit, so I sit behind my desk opposite hers. The chair is cold, too upright. I squirm a little to get comfortable. She eyes me up and down. Clearly she thinks there is more to figure out about me than there actually is.

"What is it with you and him?" she asks finally.

"What?" I ask, alarmed.

"It's something- he trusts you. I know that's difficult for him. Have you two ever...?"

I cut her off. "We've worked together for a long time. That's it. He'll learn to trust you eventually."

She shakes her head. "I don't think so."

"Well, you did trick him. On the island I mean. It might take some time. What exactly happened there?" I ask cautiously. Maybe it is safer to ask her than it is to ask Jane.

She smiles that terse smile. "Nothing. We had dinner. We talked. I was undercover, I confirmed his identity and then Abbott brought him back here. That's it."

Dinner huh. A date perhaps? I wonder if Jane had known she was undercover.

* * *

I meet Jane in the car park. I am wearing a green dress that has been sitting in the back of my closet for almost eight years. He greets me with a growing smile as he looks me up and down, I smile back at him and spin around.

"You said green?"

He nods with a grin, and rests his hand on my lower back as we begin to walk towards the entrance to the hall. "I'm shocked, Lisbon. This is very good. Very good indeed."

He looks down at me and I let myself meet his eyes, a smile still plastered on my face. I like to surprise him. And as much as I hate to admit it to myself, I like that I can still make him smile.

"We should wait for Rigsby and Van Pelt," I say, as we near the door. He agrees and we stand in the shadows. I watch him inspect every person that walks in. I cannot see anything unusual about any of them, but then again, I am not Jane.

"They're late," I say, looking at my watch.

Jane shrugs and shoots me a smile. "We were twelve minutes early. We can wait a bit longer."

"We should go in, they can meet us in there," I continue. He just shakes his head at me.

"No, we can wait. It's better if we go in once everyone has settled in."

I sigh. I guess I'm not his boss anymore. More his minder. A glorified babysitter. I fiddle with the neckline of my dress. It's cut a bit lower than I'm used to, probably why I never thought to wear it again after my brother's wedding.

"Stop fussing, you look good," Jane says to me, and when I look up at him he doesn't look away. I screw up my face at him.

He laughs, then looks down at my feet. "Nice heels. Very pointy."

Yeah, nice. Uncomfortable too.

"I hate heels," I grumble.

"Well I appreciate that you wore them for me," he replies.

"I didn't wear them for you, I wore them because they've been sitting in my closet for just as long as this dress, and I thought they deserved a chance." I am smiling now, I can't help it.

"Well, you look good," he tells me again. "But you didn't have to wear heels for me, the dress is sufficient."

Rigsby and Van Pelt arrive together. I can see the bulge of a gun on both of them.

"You won't need those," Jane says, motioning to their poorly hidden holsters.

They look at me questioningly and I shrug. "Don't ask me, I don't know what the plan is."

"We were told we were backup?" Rigsby says.

"I guess not. You can put the guns in the car, Rigs," I tell him.

"Good," Jane says with a wide grin. "No need for guns tonight. We're going to have fun. Relax, have some drinks, have a dance."

He wanders ahead of us, through the big door to the hall. Rigsby and Van Pelt look at me in confusion again.

"Why are we here?" Rigs asks me quietly.

"No idea," I reply, following Jane into the hall.

* * *

We all sit at the table. Well, all of us except for Jane. He is sitting at a table with a group of people that I don't recognize. Is he just socializing, or am I missing something? I have a beer sitting in front of me that I've barely touched. I have to drive, and for all I know we're going to end up in a high speed chase at any moment.

I am lost in thought when he appears beside me. He holds out his hand for me.

"I know you want to dance," he says, smiling down. I begin to protest, but before I can formulate a full sentence I am on my feet and following him to the dance floor.

"Jane, we're on a case," I tell him. He is a good dancer. He is warm, confident, and strangely light on his feet.

"Oh, this is all part of it Lisbon, don't you worry." He looks down at me, eyes bright. Then he moves his arm further around my back, and his cheek rests against the side of my head. I try to settle my heartbeat, knowing he can feel it, knowing that he has noticed.

"See that man in the dark blue suit?" he murmurs into my ear. I break out of my stupor and follow his gaze.

"Yes."

"That's Redmond's chemistry professor. Gallagher. Let's move a little closer."

The man in the blue suit is arguing with his dance partner. As we draw closer, I can see his dance partner is Helen Redmond. They glance at us as we get too close, and move away.

"Damn, she recognized us," I say.

"Doesn't matter," he says. He pushes me gently away, spins me around, then pulls me back to him. He grins at me as the song ends, and then takes my hand and leads me back to our table.

"We're done here," he tells Rigsby and Van Pelt. _I suppose we are then, Jane_. I roll my eyes.

We walk to the parking lot together. Van Pelt is a little drunk. She is holding hands with Risgby and they laugh together. I'm glad for them, but a little jealous. I shake it off.

"See you all tomorrow," I tell them. Rigs and Van Pelt wave goodbye and leave us. Jane pauses for a moment when we reach my car. When I unlock my door, he holds it open for me and squats down after I have got in.

"Lisbon," he says.

"Yes, Jane?" I reply, slightly impatient. I can't wait to take these shoes off.

"You look beautiful tonight."

I blush and cannot stop a smile forming. He sees it, of course he does, and beams at me.

"And me, how do I look?" he asks.

I look him up and down. He is wearing a vest tonight, it reminds me of bad times, and good times too. It reminds me of a bit too much, and I frown slightly.

"You look the same," I say. "The same as before."

I didn't mean to say that- _the same as before_.

He casts his eyes down and is quiet for a moment.

"You look good," I say, trying to interrupt his thoughts.

"Thank you," he replies, looking up at me with a wide smile. "That's very nice to hear."

* * *

"Hello Teresa," Jane says as I walk into the kitchen for my morning coffee. I raise my eyebrows at the use of my first name and he laughs. A game, always a game with him.

"Patrick," I reply. He laughs again and offers me the teapot.

"Thank you," I say. I take it and pour myself a cup of tea. What am I doing, I came in here for coffee.

We sit at the table and he puts a small thread of cotton in front of me- "Et voila!"

"What's that?" I ask.

"I plucked it off Gallagher last night. It's the same material that James Redmond's suit was made out of. The one he was wearing when he died."

He looks smug, but I don't know what he has figured out from this. It's a connection, sure. But so what if two people happen to have the same tailor or shop at the same store.

"And what does that mean?" I ask.

"Last night was fun, wasn't it?" he says. "We should do it again."

I give him a withering glare. "Sure, sure. But what has this material got to do with anything?"

"I could tell you, but it would be much more fun to show you," he says with a grin. He puts down his tea and moves around behind me. He reaches over my shoulder and takes my half empty cup from me. I can feel his breath on my neck. He puts the cups in the sink and washes them carefully, then dries them.

"Well come on then," I say, turning to him. "What are you going to show me."

He turns around as if surprised. "Oh yes, let's go."

We meet Fischer in the bullpen as we are leaving.

"And where are you two going?" She asks, glancing down at the keys in my hand.

"To solve the case, of course," Jane says. "Do you want to come?"

She shakes her head, exasperated. "No, do what you need to do. Keep me informed."

"Sure. We're going to need to borrow Cho. He'll meet us there."

Fischer gives him a controlled smile and says- "Okay, fine."

When we walk away, I cast a glance behind me. Fischer is still watching us, an odd look on her face. She turns her eyes away when she sees me looking.

He doesn't tell me where we are going, but he directs me as I drive. We pull up to a cheap motel and when I turn off the engine, I look at him impatiently.

"Hurry up then," he says with a grin.

* * *

We get to Room 18. He already has a key. Of course he does. He opens the door and holds it for me as I go inside.

"What are we doing here, Jane?" I ask. He sits on the bed and motions for me to sit beside him. He points at the window. The curtains are slightly parted and we can see the traffic moving down the highway.

"In about half an hour, Professor Gallagher is going to walk past that window and go into Room 19," he tells me.

Oh for God's sake, how does he know that. What the hell is going on. This is much too secretive, even for Jane.

"Oh yes," I reply. "And what are we going to do for half an hour?"

He raises his eyebrows at me and I blush again. God damn my pale skin, God damn Jane.

"Oh Lisbon, that's inappropriate. I can't believe your mind goes to such places," he says to me with a smile.

"Oh shut up," I reply.

"We're going to set a little trap, that's what we're going to do for half an hour."


	2. Chapter 2

_Thought of the day 11/01/17: I hate that my non-FF editors keep making me cut out all my adverbs and adjectives. And I like that adverbs are often necessary and useful in FF, instead of a terrible hindrance. Adverbs fo lyf, yo!_

 **A/N Next chapter is almost done too, but I keep drinking too much wine and now I need a lot of editing time, probably shouldn't have got overexcited and published before I did a decent edit. Oops. I'll be moving onto some more relationship/character development soon, it's not going to be fun and games forever!**

 **Thanks to those who have left reviews, really appreciate it (especially because it's my first time on this site).**

* * *

We watch camera footage from the room next door. God knows when all this was set up, and by whom. Van Pelt, perhaps?

Professor Gallagher is only mildly surprised to find Cho in his motel room when he arrives.

"Rigsby is more his type, but Cho is the only one that wasn't at the charity ball," Jane had explained. "He won't recognise him."

Cho barely looks up when Gallagher walks in.

"Hello," he says.

"You're a bit diferent than what I expected," Gallagher replies. Cho nods.

"What the hell is going on?" I ask Jane.

He puts a finger to his lips and points to the screen. "Just watch."

"A man of few words, I like that," Gallagher says, moving to sit on the bed.

"How the hell did you get Cho to do this?" I ask Jane. It seems that Agent Cho is posing as an escort. The thought almost makes me laugh out loud.

Cho glares straight at the camera as Gallagher puts a hand on his shoulder.

"He doesn't hate it as much as you think," Jane says to me. "He's quite the actor."

"Sure," I reply. "How long is this going to go on?"

"Patience, Lisbon."

Luckily for Cho, Gallagher doesn't make any overt moves. Instead, he chats about his day. Cho says very little, but gives him the occasional nod. Eventually Gallagher stands up and takes off his coat.

"So, payment up front?" He asks, beginning to unzip his trousers. I can see Cho visibly slump with relief.

"Peter Gallagher, you're under arrest for solicitation."

Jane leans back and grins at me. "There we go."

"What do you mean, there we go?" I ask. "How does this help us find Redmond's killer?"

"Isn't it obvious, Lisbon?" he says with a smirk.

I think for a moment, then curse my own stupidity. "Redmond's a gigolo. Gallagher hired him."

"Yes, very good, Lisbon. He would never have told us if we hadn't caught him in the act."

We look back at the screen as Cho is handcuffing the professor. Cho gives us a thumbs up into the camera, and we exit the room and put Gallagher in the back of my car.

"You can't prove anything," Gallagher tells us sullenly as we drive away. "I just wanted someone to talk to, nothing else."

"Lucky you have us to talk to then," Jane replies.

* * *

When we get back to the bullpen, Fischer is sitting on Jane's couch.

He gasps audibly and stands in front of her. "Well, this is highly irregular."

"It's a big couch, Jane. Take a seat, I won't bite."

He furrows his brow, then finally sits beside her.

He writhes around and makes unappreciative noises. "It's not the same. I need to lie down."

"Oh for God's sake," she says, standing up.

"If you like it so much you should get your own," He says to her, lying down with his arms crossed over his chest. "I could help you pick one out, I can't imagine you understand comfort particularly well."

"I don't need a couch, it was just somewhere to sit," She says to him, but a smile tugs at the corner of her mouth.

"Okay then, call me if you need me." He shuts his eyes. Fischer looks at me questioningly. I shrug.

"That's it? You're not going to question Gallagher?" She asks him.

He dismisses her with a wave of his hand. "That's your job, Kim. I'm just a consultant."

I hide a smirk and head to the interrogation room where Cho has taken the professor. Fischer follows me.

"What's the deal with all the naps?" She asks me.

"I have no idea. I guess he thinks his brilliance isn't required right now."

We smile at each other. She's not so bad. I feel a bit sorry for her, I remember what it's like trying to reign Jane in.

"Maybe I should get a couch after all," She says, glancing back at him. "He looks comfortable."

* * *

"Well, he's admitted to hiring Redmond, but we've got nothing else on him," Fischer says.

"You can let him go, he didn't do it," Jane says from the couch.

"We're not letting him go, he's got motive. Plus we can probably make the solicitation charges stick."

Jane sits up and sighs. "Well okay, keep him here then. But he didn't do it. We just needed him to admit that he had a thing with Redmond, now we can put the next part of the plan into motion."

"What plan?" Fischer says, throwing her hands in the air.

"Yeah, what plan," I ask him.

He smiles knowingly at me, and stands. "You need to visit the good professor's wife," he tells Fischer.

"Me?" She asks.

"Yeah, you. Lisbon and I have other plans."

"We do?" I ask.

"Yes," he says. "Lunch first though. I'm a bit peckish."

He stands and beckons for me to follow. I look to Fischer for approval but she just shrugs. Maybe she's given up already.

"Well I guess I'll go see Mrs. Gallagher then," she mutters as we begin to leave.

"You do that, Kim. And good luck to you," Jane says, holding out his fist. "Pound it out."

Fischer glares at him.

"No?" Jane says. "Okay then. See you later."

"We're not really going for lunch," he tells me as we get on the elevator.

"Oh," I say, a bit disappointed. I'm actually quite hungry.

"We can get something on the way if you want?" He asks.

"No, it doesn't matter. Where are we going?"

"We'll get something on the way," he says with a nod.

* * *

Jane pulls my seat out for me and gestures for me to sit. He orders for me- lasagne. It's what I would have ordered anyway. The gesture is flattering and annoying all at once.

He sits beside me, arm draped over the back of my chair again.

"Is this going to be a regular thing? Taking me out for meals?" I ask him with a smile.

"If you want," he replies.

"Well, once in a while couldn't hurt," I say. I am in an unusually good mood. Perhaps it's the satisfaction of seeing Jane terrorize someone else for once. And here I am having a nice lunch, while Fischer is chasing up his loose ends.

"So," I say between mouthfuls. "Where are we going after lunch?"

"Oh, we're going to help Fischer with the questioning. I could see you were hungry, and I wanted her to get the boring cop work out of the way before we get there."

I let myself laugh, but I quicken my eating and insist that we get back on the road as soon as possible.

"Ah Lisbon, live a little," he tells me as I shove him towards the car.

"I ate my lunch didn't I?"

He gets in the car, grumbling as he does up his seat belt. "I hadn't even had dessert."

"Who the hell has dessert at lunchtime?" I ask.

He stares at me, horrified. "Me, Lisbon! Me!"

"Okay, calm down. Where do I turn off?"

* * *

I secretly send Fischer a pity text when we are a few minutes away. I know what it's like to be unpleasantly surprised by Patrick Jane.

She greets us at the door and smiles at us as if nothing is wrong.

"How is the questioning?" he asks her.

"It's going well, thank you," she replies. "Come on in."

We follow her into a garish dining room adorned with dark red curtains and matching chairs. Jane raises his eyebrows at me and I nod back at him. Who the hell decorated this?

Fischer and I sit down at the seats offered to us by Mrs Gallagher, but Jane remains standing. She looks worn, much older than her husband.

"Is this going to take much longer," she says. "I know about my husbands... hobby. I always have."

Jane walks out in front of us. "I'll take this, if you don't mind."

"Not at all," Fischer says dryly.

"Does it bother you, the affairs? The escorts?" Jane asks Mrs. Gallagher.

She sighs. "Not anymore."

"Very well," he says. "Could I possibly use your bathroom, if it's not too much trouble?"

She gestures down the hallway with a tired nod.

"That was brief," Fischer mutters under her breath.

He disappears. Solving crimes in bathrooms, solving crimes in kitchens, no place is sacred when it comes to him.

I let Fischer take the lead again, as I have no idea what she has already asked. It seems to me like another dead end, but Jane obviously only wanted to come here to look around, so we draw it out for a while.

"Do you and your husband ever talk about his lovers?" Fischer asks.

"No."

"Does he ever bring his lovers here?"

"No."

All we are achieving is making her close up.

I shake my head at Fischer. "I'm going to find Jane."

* * *

He has his head and shoulders fully entrenched in a wardrobe when I find him.

"Are you almost done?"

He jerks out of the closet holding a little bag of material scraps, and a sewing kit. Without a word, he pours the bag onto the ground and starts rummaging through. Finally he finds his prize.

"Voila!" he says, showing me a scrap of material identical to the cloth used in James Redmond's and Professor Gallagher's suits. "She made the suits. Seems she has met James after all."

"This is good, Jane. It's evidence of something, I guess. But she has an alibi, it hardly proves that she's a murderer," I say.

"No," he replies, raising his index finger in the air. "But it proves that she's lying. And we're going to find out why."

He pockets the scrap of material and heads to the door, then turns his head back to me. "Just... just not right now. Come on, let's go."

I gesture at the mess he has made on the floor. "Are you going to tidy that up?"

"Nope," he replies. I dutifully follow him out, feeling even more like a bumbling sidekick. I'm starting to miss being the boss.

* * *

Fischer refuses to talk to him when we get back to headquarters. She confiscates the material from him and asks Rigsby to see if he can figure out where it came from, then sits at her desk in sullen silence. I don't blame her.

Jane appears moments later. His hands are behind his back and he is grinning at me.

"We're going undercover again."

I groan. "Really?"

"Yes, and I got you something." He pulls a large paper bag from behind him and presents it to me with a flourish. "You don't have to wear heels this time. Well, not if you don't want to."

It is a dress. A very tiny, tight dress. I hold it up and stare at it, then look back at Jane.

"Really?" I ask again.

He nods happily. "Yep. Go on then, get changed."

I let out an exasperated breath of air and go to find somewhere to change. This whole thing is getting ridiculous. There is something going on with him, I am sure now.

The dress fits me perfectly. Well, it fits someone perfectly my size that likes to wear tight dresses.

I walk back towards the bullpen feeling ridiculous. I refuse to let them all see me like this, so I poke me head around the side of the entrance and hiss at Jane to come over.

He grins at me. "Coming, Lisbon."

As we walk out to the car yet again, I glance over at him and catch him looking much lower than my eyes.

"Did you just..."

He immediately puts his hands up in the air and turns around. "I didn't do anything."

"You just checked me out!"

"I did nothing of the sort."

"I saw you," I say, accusingly. I know that I am meant to be mad, but I can't stop myself from smiling.

He feigns ignorance. "I don't know what you're talking about."

"Ohhh you can't talk your way out of this one, Patrick Jane."

"Look, I'm not saying I did anything, or looked at anything. But if I did, then you should be flattered."

"Flattered? Really, Jane?" I ask incredulously.

He nods at me. "Yes. Maybe, if someone were to look at you with an appreciative glance, you should be flattered that they think you look nice."

"Oh stop being such a.. a man, it doesn't suit you," I say, starting to get a little irritated.

He staggers back with his hand on his heart. "How dare you," He says with mock fury. "How dare you call me a man. You monster, Lisbon."

"It's true. You sound like those gross men that wolf whistle at every woman that passes."

"Fine," He says. "I'll never look at you again."

He closes his eyes and puts his hands out in front of him, feeling around like a blind man as he moves past me.

"You're ridiculous," I say, and get into the car. He continues to fumble around, throwing his body over the hood of a car as if he has tripped.

I wind down the window. "Let's get this over and done with, hurry up."

"I can't find the car," he replies.

Fine, I'll let him play. I pull an old newspaper from under my seat and stare at the words, not taking any of them in.

"I can't see," he says. He sounds closer now, but I ignore him.

Finally the passenger door opens. I don't look up, but I am greeted with a low wolf whistle.


	3. Chapter 3

_Thought of the day:  
Me: Would it be weird if I put a wall-size picture of Simon Baker over there?  
_ _Husband: *no reply, leaves the room abruptly.*_

 **A/N: Didn't really mean to get too wound up in the murder case, but it just happened. Hopefully everything is kind of making sense! I'll have a read over and an edit at some point to double check, seeing as I didn't exactly plan for this.**

 **Honestly, the first draft I did of this story was about 5000 words long, then I started adding things in between and it got out of control.**

 **Who knows what will happen next, certainly not me! (The Mentalist theme song was totally playing in my head as I wrote that).**

* * *

"So are you going to see Karen again?" I ask as we drive.

"I haven't decided."

"She seems nice," I reply, glancing over to see if I can catch his expression.

"She is. Pull over up there."

Jane takes me to a large wooden house that is built next to the high school that Helen Redmond attends. James Redmond used to tutor some of the kids there in his spare time.

"The principal is having a memorial tonight. We're going to be Mr. and Mrs. Beckett, parents of an imaginary child."

"What the hell, Jane. This dress isn't appropriate for a memorial," I say, feeling even more self conscious.

"Perhaps not, but it's certainly appropriate for getting sleazy old principal Gareth to open up to you."

"Sleazy? How do you know he's sleazy?" I ask him.

"I'd call someone who has photographs of his students in the changing room pretty sleazy, wouldn't you?"

"What? How do you know he has photos?"

He shrugs. "Broke into his office a few days ago. Very poor security around here, they should do something about that."

We go inside. It is clearly the principal's house, he has his certificates displayed above the fireplace, and pictures of family scattered around the room.

There is no one here that could recognize me. I don't know why I was worried, Jane always knows how to plan these things, even if they don't always turn out the way he expects.

"What are we looking for?" I ask him.

"I have a feeling that someone here is going to meet Helen Redmond at the school a bit later on, I'm just not sure who it is yet."

"But you want me to talk to Gareth?"

"Oh not right now, let's just have a look around," he says, offering his hooked arm to me. "Come on, wifey."

I punch him, shooting him a sour look, then link my arm through his.

* * *

"Why did we even have to go undercover for this anyway?" I ask him.

"People are much more likely to open up to us if we don't seem like we're accusing them of anything. Besides, we don't want to scare away whoever is going to meet Helen."

We join a group of parents in the kitchen. They are reading the notes that some teenagers have written and pinned to a memorial board. They glance at us suspiciously, but Jane smiles disarmingly at them and they seem to relax.

"Did James tutor your kid too?" one of the ladies asks us.

Jane smiles down at me, then looks back at her. "Yes, our son."

Jane is good at playing family, at playing husband. I wonder if he has a whole backstory in his head, or if he is just making this up as he goes.

"Does your son go to Harbor Heights too?" another woman asks us.

Jane nods in reply then begins to ask them questions about James. I watch him as he talks. Every now and then he looks at me with a warm smile, and he refers to me as his wife. Just acting. I realize that this might be hard for him. I know he likes playing around and pretending to be someone else, but does it remind him of his real family?

"All right, we better go mingle. Come on, honey," Jane says finally, slinging an arm around my waist.

* * *

Jane sends me to talk to the principal while he looks around. I struggle to keep my temper as I talk to Ted Gareth. He barely looks up from my breasts when he speaks, and he tries to touch me so many times that I lose count.

I look around for Jane and finally spot him. He gives me a bit of a cringe and beckons me over.

"I'm sorry, Ted, I better find my husband," I say, and thankfully leave him.

"Anything?" Jane asks me.

"He's disgusting, but he didn't have a lot to say about James."

"Anything about Helen, though?"

"Not really, he just said that they were both good kids. Why, do you think he's the one meeting Helen tonight?"

He considers me, and I wonder if he is thinking about withholding his theories, but he finally replies- "yes. I'm pretty sure it's him. But we'll have to wait and see. Should we dance?"

He gestures to the centre of the living room where are bunch of teenagers are dancing.

"No, you've filled your quota of dances with me. You'll have to earn the next one," I tell him.

He laughs. "I see. Well, you should stay here, mingle. See what you can find out about those two," he says, pointing out two of James Redmond's classmates that Rigsby interviewed a few days ago.

"Where are you going?" I ask him.

"I won't be long, just stay here."

"Fine."

He leaves me, and I awkwardly wander around the room, trying to keep an eye on Gareth at the same time. It becomes apparent after a while that Jane isn't coming back anytime soon. I walk out to the car but I don't see him anywhere. I turn to go back inside, but spot him out of the corner of my eye ducking in the side door of the school.

"Damn it, Jane," I mutter to myself, and walk after him, sticking to the shadows.

* * *

I walk down the school hallway with my hand resting on my gun, my back against the lockers. A door swings open and an arm appears, wrenching me inside. I start to protest but Jane holds a finger to my lips. I hear footsteps coming closer.

"What the hell are you doing here?" he whispers when the footsteps fade away.

"I came here to do my job, Jane. Gareth is still in there, what's going on?"

He sighs. "I was just finding a good spot to watch for them."

I look around me. We are in a closet, barely big enough for both of us. I suddenly realize that I am pressed up against him.

Jane looks at me thoughtfully. "Okay, I guess you can help. But we have to stay here for a while and it's a bit tight, so have a mint."

He wriggles against me, then produces a mint from his pocket. I am horrified, what the hell did I have for lunch?

He laughs under his breath. "Just kidding, your breath is fine. But I had an onion bagel earlier."

He pops the mint in his mouth.

"How long do we have to stay here?" I ask him.

"Until the second person arrives." he replies. "And don't ask me when that will be, I'm not a psychic."

We stand there for what seems like forever. I can tell he is looking at me so I stare up at the roof, at the crumbling light fitting, the wilting spider webs. Anything to avoid looking him in the eye.

"Hey," he says, moving his hand to my upper arm. "I'm sorry. I know I've been a bit difficult."

I relent, and meet his eye. "Ha, a bit?"

"Okay, very difficult. I'm sorry."

He smiles at me and I manage a weak smile back.

"Why?" I ask. "What's going on?"

"Oh, nothing really. Just questioning things. Wondering if I should have come back."

I pause, searching his eyes, then finally say- "well, I'm glad you did."

His hand moves up to my shoulder, his thumb grazes my neck. I shiver a little.

"Cold?" he asks.

"No," I reply. He smiles knowingly at me and I glare back at him, mentally punching myself. "Well, maybe a little."

Good cover up, idiot, I think to myself.

His expression turns serious and I am painfully aware that we are inches apart. He takes his hand from my shoulder, but does not move his eyes from mine. His lips are parted slightly. "Lisbon, I want you to know-"

The second set of footsteps comes just in time. Jane starts. When we hear them beginning to trail away, he opens the closet door and motions for me to follow.

"When we get to the classroom, stay outside. Let me talk to them alone for a while," he says.

We hear voices coming from a closed door, and we pause outside.

"Helen Redmond?" I mouth to him. He nods.

He opens the door and walks in, leaving me in the corridor. I wait outside, listening to them, listening for any sign that Jane is in trouble.

"What are you doing here?" A male voice says from inside.

"Now, now, Gareth. I'm not here to hurt you, I just want to talk about these," Jane says.

I hear a loud gasp. "Where did you get those?" Gareth asks. The photos perhaps?

"I just printed them off James's computer. That's where you found them, isn't it Helen?"

I can't hear her reply. I take a peek through the blinds of the classroom window and see Gareth slumped, defeated.

"What are you going to do?" he asks.

"I've just come to stop Helen doing something stupid. Because she thinks you killed her brother, don't you Helen?"

Helen nods.

"Well, he's a disgusting old perve, but I don't think he actually did it. I do, however, think that he might know some things that can help us."

Jane looks at the window that I am peering through. "You can come in, Lisbon. I'm sure there's something you can arrest this man for."

* * *

"James was helping principal Gareth sell the photos online," Jane explains. "Apparently he was just trying to make some money, but when he tried to break up the deal, Gareth panicked and tried to blackmail him with pictures of his own sister."

"Yuck."

"You got that right. While you were distracting him I had a look in his bedroom, there are more photos in a shoe box under the bed. Very unoriginal hiding place."

We have called Cho to come pick up Gareth for booking, and we have let Helen go home for now.

"But we still don't know who killed him?"

"No, I suppose we don't."

Is he telling the truth? I sometimes get the feeling that he solves each case just moments after seeing the body, then he leads us around in circles for his own entertainment.

"What you said before, you were right. You've been pretty difficult," I say as we walk back to the car.

"I know," he says.

"Well things have to be different now, this is getting ridiculous," I tell him.

"Don't you worry, Lisbon. I'm a changed man," he says, his lips twitching a little in mirth.

"Oh yes, and what specifically has changed?"

"Well to start with," he says, walking towards the exit, "I have a girlfriend now. I have to be responsible, really step up, you know?"

I chase after him, then match my step to his. "Really? A girlfriend?"

He chuckles. "No, no girlfriend yet. You and I would have to get a divorce first. Let's go, Mrs. Beckett."

He puts his arm around my waist but removes it after a brief second. In that brief second, I wonder what it would be like to be Patrick Jane's girlfriend.

* * *

We drive back to headquarters in near silence. When we arrive, Jane takes a cushion from the corner of the room and puts it on his couch. I guess he's sleeping there again.

I put my bag down at my desk and pull out my neglected files, placing them on top of my keyboard so that I remember to sort them out first thing in the morning.

"I was just a bit messed up, but I'm fine now," he says. I look over at him, grateful for this rare display of honesty.

"I hope so."

"I am. I was wondering what I was doing here, if it was all worth it," he says, then he holds his hand up to stop me when I open my mouth to speak. "I know, I know. This is important to you. Your job is important to you." He shrugs. "But for me it's something else."

"What sort of something else?" I ask.

He gives me a half smile. "I don't know. A distraction, I guess."

"And does it... distract you?" I ask him.

He looks down at me, and I wonder if he is letting me see his hurt, or if it has just slipped through.

He doesn't say anything for a while, but then he breathes out deeply. "Sometimes."

I pick my bag up from the desk. "I'm going home."

"Okay," he replies. He turns his back to me and stares through the window above his couch.

"You can talk to me, you know," I say.

"I know, I just did, didn't I?"

"Well, okay. But if there's anything else then let me know. These games that you play aren't going to be fun forever. Not even for you."

When he turns back to me his face is open, not a hint of the usual theatrics. He considers me for a while and I have to will myself to break eye contact.

"We put away bad people, Lisbon," he says to me. "That should be enough, shouldn't it?"

"Enough for what?" I ask.

He shrugs and turns back to the window. "Enough to be happy, fulfilled, I guess." He sighs. "Go home, Teresa. I'm okay."

I start to walk away again, then swear under my breath and stop.

"You're not as much of a loner as you think you are, Patrick," I say. "You wouldn't be here if you were. You wouldn't have-" I pause, not wanting to say the rest. But maybe he needs to hear it, maybe he needs me. "You wouldn't have asked for me to be here, working with you."

He doesn't reply, so I continue walking. Just before the elevator doors close, his hand appears in between them. The doors stop closing, and as they open again, he walks in and stands beside me. I glance at him briefly, then look away.

When the elevator stops at the bottom he presses a button and the doors remain closed. He turns to me. "And you? Are you happy, Lisbon?"

I nod, somewhat stupidly. Am I happy? I'm not sure.

"You never wanted a partner? A family?" He says, his eyes searching my face.

"I suppose I've thought about it, but the job has always come first," I tell him.

He nods at me, then frowns. "Not for me, not anymore," he replies, opening the elevator doors and stepping out. I follow him.

"Will it always come first, Lisbon?" He asks, not turning to look at me, not stopping to hear my reply. It doesn't matter, I'm not sure that I have that answer anyway.


	4. Chapter 4

_Thought of the day: Two days ago I told my husband that I was reading fan fiction to help me with my Mentalist withdrawals. Today I told him that I'd written some. He wanted to read it. Hell no, the last thing I need him to know is that I would eagerly divorce him if it was possible to be in a beautiful polygamous relationship with two fictional characters._

 **A/N: I'm on a roll now, speeding towards the good bit. Because no one suffered through those six seasons of will they/won't they without desperately wishing that they would.**

 **I've been trying not to over-explain Lisbon's feelings, but hopefully this chapter will give you all a bit more insight into why she has been holding back.**

* * *

Jane is asleep on the couch when I arrive the next day. I look down at him, remembering what he asked me last night. Was he asking me what I wanted because he wants to know about me, about my feelings? Or was he asking because he wants to know what normal people want, trying to decide if he wants those things too.

I've spent so many years of my life trying to figure this man out, but I don't know if I've achieved very much. Maybe now, after last night's conversation, he will tell me real answers when I ask. Maybe after last night I can find it within myself to give him some real answers.

His eyes flicker, but don't open. "Hello, Teresa."

"Hi, Jane. Did you come back here to sleep last night?"

"No, just came in early to get a good start on the day. Nothing like a nap to get your mind working."

I laugh. "A nap after a night's sleep huh. Sounds like a solid plan."

He sits up, smoothing his suit over his chest. He cocks his head at me. "And did you sleep well, Lisbon?" He is looking at me with narrowed eyes, trying to figure something out.

I sit down at my desk and turn to my paperwork. "Like a baby," I lie.

I struggle to concentrate on my work, feeling his eyes boring into my back. I try to convince myself that he's probably not looking at me, that I'm just imagining it, but my mind is a jumble.

The thing is, I like joking around with him, flirting even. But the thought of anything else sends my brain into a whirlwind of excuses and feelings and thoughts that I can't quite make sense of. To start with, I have no idea if he even wants anything more from me. He went on that date with Karen, after all. What does he think we are? Friends?

Fischer arrives not long after, and sits opposite me at her desk. "We've questioned Ted Gareth, he thinks that Professor Gallagher knew that Redmond was selling the photos, so we've called him in for questioning. He'll be here in a few hours."

"Hi, Kim," Jane calls from behind me.

"Hello, Jane," she replies with a small smile. "Are you going to talk to Mrs. Gallagher about that material, about the suits?"

"Yes, I thought I might."

"Well, are you going to do it soon? It would be nice to make a bit of headway with this case."

"I suppose I could do that," he replies. "Just for you, Kim."

She suppresses another smile. Yes, it's certainly hard to resist Jane's charm, I think to myself.

"Good, well you get onto that." she says.

He stands up and walks over, pausing at my desk.

"You smell like..." he sniffs me. What do I smell like? Shampoo? Did I put perfume on this morning?

"Toast," he says triumphantly. "Wheatmeal toast. Strange, I'd pegged you as a wholegrain girl."

I smack him on the arm.

"Did you see that?" he asks Fischer, then he turns to me and shakes his head, a look of pure hurt on his face. "Always with the hitting, Lisbon."

"Go and do your job or I'll hit you again," I say.

"I would love to, but I think it would be best if I talk to her at the same time as you talk to the professor. I want to make sure they can't corroborate their stories afterwards."

"And why is that?" Fischer asks him.

"Because they're both lying about something, and I want to know if they're lying about the same thing." He grins at us, looking as cocky as ever.

"He thinks he's so clever," Fischer says to me.

I roll my eyes. "Always."

Jane looks from me to Fischer, then back again. "Oh I don't like this at all," He says, narrowing his eyes. "You two are ganging up on me. Don't think I can't tell."

He starts to wander off. Fischer calls after him- "well where are you going now? There's other work you can do."

"All in good time, Kim. But right now I've got a hankering for something grainy and toasted."

* * *

Fischer goes with Jane to talk to Mrs. Gallagher while Van Pelt questions the professor. I find myself at a loose end once I've finished my paperwork, so I go to the break room to grab a coffee.

I sit at the table alone, once again letting my mind wander back to my conversation with Jane last night. Until now, I haven't been able to admit that I have feelings for him at all. But now, as I let that thought wash over me, I can't quite figure out what those feelings are. What would a relationship with him look like? Sure, I am used to his tricks and games now, enjoy them even. But would I be able to cope with that in a real relationship with him?

I can't tell how he feels, and I can't trust him not to run away again. I can't figure out exactly how I feel about him until I know, I won't let myself.

I resolve to put these thoughts out of my mind for now, and I go back to my desk.

* * *

Fischer and Jane come into the room an hour before the end of the day. They are joking together, they seem relaxed in each others company. I'm not jealous, I'm definitely not jealous, I tell myself.

The whole team sit in the conference room and go over what we have discovered.

"Both the Gallaghers say that they were at home at the time of the murder, and they are each other's alibi," Fischer says. "However we have managed to get Mrs. Gallagher to admit that James Redmond spent a lot of time at their place."

"And she made the suits," Jane says.

"Yes," Fischer says with a smile. "Yes, she made them both suits."

"So if they didn't kill Redmond, then we are no closer to figuring this out than we were before," I say.

"Well I don't know about that," Jane says. "We still don't know why she lied about knowing Redmond in the first place. And I'd like to check out the crime scene again."

Fischer nods. "Okay, we'll do that tomorrow."

Jane stands and looks around at us. "So, dinner?"

Rigsby shakes his head and looks at Van Pelt. "No, we have plans."

Cho just shakes his head.

Jane looks at me. "Lisbon? Dinner?"

"No, I can't," I blurt out. "Plans."

He raises his eyebrows at me. "Oh yes, don't tell me you have a date?"

"I could have a date," I say. "I go on dates."

"Well who are you going on a date with then?" he asks, staring at me intently.

"None of your business." Oh great, so now I'm making up dates and acting like a child. I'm acting just like him.

He looks at me for a while longer, then finally turns away. "Well okay then. Go on your date. Have a fantastic time." He turns to Fischer. "Kim, what about you?"

Kim shrugs. "Yeah, I could do dinner. What do you have in mind?"

* * *

I spend another fitful night trying to figure out my own feelings, despite my promise to myself earlier in the day. When I finally sleep, I hear his voice in my dreams. _Are you happy, Lisbon?_

I wake earlier than usual, not any more rested than the day before, the voice still echoing in my head. I suppose I'm not that happy, I admit to myself. Not completely anyway. But what am I going to do about it?

When I exit the elevator, I see Jane and Fischer talking to each other in the passage. He's smiling, and in the interests of being honest with myself, I let myself linger there, admiring him. He spots me and waves.

When I walk over to them, I hear Jane murmur to her- "and that thing with the handcuffs, absolutely genius."

I feel like ice water has been poured all over me, but I force a smile.

"Hi, Lisbon," he says with a grin. "How was your date?"

I shrug. If I speak, I will lie, and I don't want to lie to him again.

"Well, ours was fantastic, wasn't it, Kim?"

She laughs. "Shut up, Jane." She walks away, back to her desk.

I stare at him in poorly masked horror. "You're actually dating Kim?"

"No, I'm not dating Kim. I went on one date with Kim."

"That's the same thing."

"No it's not, dating implies more than one date. Or the present tense. So I guess you could say that last night I was dating Kim, but today I'm not currently on a date with her and we've only been on one date so-"

"Jane!"

"What?"

"I don't want to hear about it. Really. Are we going to go do some work, or what?"

I feel like I have hundreds of rocks flowing down my throat into my stomach. Okay, so I guess I'm a bit jealous.

"Why do you even care that I went on a date with Kim anyway," Jane says, looking at me with those infuriating blue eyes.

* * *

Jane and I visit the crime scene later on in the day. Jane picks up a knife from the kitchen bench with his handkerchief.

"This doesn't match the set of the knives here, we should get it fingerprinted," he says.

"But the murder weapon was a gun," I reply.

"Yes, but I think we'll find someone's fingerprints on this, and surely that would place them here around the time of the murder?"

"I suppose. Whose fingerprints will we find?" I ask, not really expecting him to divulge all that he has figured out.

He pauses before replying. "One of the Gallaghers, I think. I don't believe they were both at home that night."

"Okay. Anything else you want to look at here?"

"Hmm, no. Nothing crime related anyway," he says with a smile, looking down at me.

"Oh stop flirting, it's not going to work on me," I say, but I smile back.

He bends down and peers into my eyes. "Really?"

"Yes, really."

"Well that's a shame. Here I was thinking that you'd cave to my every whim."

"And what would Kim think about you flirting with me," I ask. I try to mask my expression but I am sure that it doesn't do any good.

"Oh don't worry, that was just a friendly dinner. Nothing untoward."

My body relaxes in relief, then immediately tenses again. So maybe they didn't sleep together, but they did have dinner. And when I look at him he is calm, leaning casually on the bench. Surely he can tell what that did do me, and he doesn't even care.

"So you were just trying to make me jealous? And that handcuffs comment? How many times do I have to ask you to stop playing games with me?" I am furious now, pacing up and down.

He frowns. "I'm sorry. I didn't know... I couldn't tell-"

"Couldn't tell what? You were trying to get a rise out of me so you could read me? Use your little games to read my mind?"

"I can't read your mind, Teresa," he says softly. _Liar_.

"Good." I reply. "You wouldn't want to know what I'm thinking right now."

"I would, actually," he says, moving closer to me. "You always want me to open up, so why don't you?"

I hate him. I hate him. He knows how I feel, surely he knows. If he felt the same, then why wouldn't he say something? Why does he just speak in riddles and ask me questions that he already knows the answer to.

"Okay," I say, my face screwed up in fury. "I'll open up. I think you know exactly what is going on in my mind, and you're messing with me."

"I don't. I'm not a psychic, Teresa. You know that."

His face is honest now, and I start to feel guilty. Maybe I've overreacted and this is all my fault. Maybe he truly doesn't know that I have feelings for him. Is this what he was waiting for? For me to just tell him? I can't. I can't say it. Not until I know for sure that he feels the same way. I glance down at his wedding ring. Not until I know that he is ready to move on.

He catches me looking at his hand and he twists the ring around on his finger. "Well, are you going to say anything?" he asks. That damn ring, his past, everything is rushing around in my head. I don't know what to do.

"Fine," he says. "You know, maybe I will go out with Kim again after all."

He continues looking down at me but I don't meet his eyes. Say something you idiot, I command myself. But no words come out.

"Fine," he says again, letting out a frustrated sigh. "Maybe you need to stop worrying about whether I can read your mind, and start being honest with yourself, Teresa." And with one last glance at me, he leaves the house.

I sink down against the bench, head in my hands. What the hell is wrong with me? With him? This can't go on forever.

I decide, as any sensible daughter of an alcoholic sometimes does, to get blackout drunk tonight.


	5. Chapter 5

_Thought of the day: Anyone else resorted to watching The Guardian for a Simon Baker fix? Jeeez he's so serious and pouty._

 **A/N: Getting to the good stuff now!**

* * *

The hangover is brutal. Jane acts like nothing is wrong, and I am sullen, angry with him. Angry with myself.

The fingerprint results come back and sure enough, it's one of the Gallagher's. Not the one I expected though.

"So do you think she killed Redmond?" I ask Jane.

He shakes his head. "No, but I think she knew he was dead long before we told her. Let's go and see the lovely couple, shall we?"

"Fine, but can we just question them normally? I'm not in the mood for an intricate plot."

"I can tell," he says wryly. "You look positively green. Rough night?"

"Just a headache," I say, pouting. He raises his eyebrows but doesn't push me any farther.

* * *

"So, Mrs. Gallagher, would you like to tell us why you lied about being at James Redmond's house at the time of the murder?" Jane asks. I breathe a sigh of relief. I had almost expected him to hypnotize her.

"No, I was... I was here," the woman replies. The professor sits beside her, also looking shaken.

"That's strange, because we found your fingerprints on a knife at the crime scene, and it turns out the neighbours had a security camera that captured you. You may as well be honest with us."

The security camera bit is a lie, but the fingerprints alone don't give us enough evidence that she was there that night.

"I-" she looks at her husband. "Okay, I was there. But he was dead when I arrive, I swear."

Jane smiles over at me, then dramatically turns and points his finger at the professor.

"And that means your alibi is dead in the water, if we look at that security footage will we also see you there, Professor?"

The professor goes white.

"If you confess now, your cooperation will be noted," I tell him.

He stares at me for a while, then sighs. "I did it. I killed him. He was just going to leave, to run away. I didn't mean to, but I told him I loved him and he just laughed at me."

Mrs. Gallagher stared at him in horror. "You killed James? You did it? How could you. I loved him too!"

What the hell is going on, was this some sort of creepy polygamous thing? I look questioningly at Jane and he shrugs.

"You were going to kill him too!" Gallagher yells at his wife. "Why did you take the knife there otherwise? Don't you judge me woman. You drove him away, you smothered him. We could have been happy if you hadn't been so obsessed with him."

Mrs. Gallagher has her head in her hands and she is sobbing. I call for Cho and Rigsby to come in and take them down to the station.

Jane grins at me. "Voila."

* * *

"So they both thought the other one was covering for them?" I ask Jane.

"I guess so. Creepy, huh. I wonder if the old bat would have done it if her husband hadn't."

"Don't call her that, she's just sad and lonely." I tell him.

My phone rings as we turn onto the main road. It's Fischer.

"Where are you, Lisbon?" She asks.

"We've just left the Gallagher's place. What's up?"

"Two bodies have just been found at the bottom of a cliff at Pace Bend Park, could you go over there and take a look before they move the bodies?"

I look at Jane and mouth 'bodies'.

He groans. "Here I was thinking we'd get a break."

I silence him, and tell Fischer that we'll be there shortly.

"How many bodies?" Jane asks when I hang up the phone.

"Two," I reply.

"Ah. Can we get-"

"Yes we can get lunch on the way," I say to him, rolling my eyes.

"Very good, I know this great wee place around the corner..."

I let his voice float over me, my mind beginning to clear. All that is left from the fuzzy hangover of the morning is irritation at the man sitting beside me. God, I just want this day to be over.

* * *

We stand near the edge of the cliff. He takes a step forward and balks.

"Anything?" I ask.

"Not from up here," he replies.

"We have a team retrieving the bodies, we'll have to look at them back at the lab. May as well have a look around while we're here though."

He peers over the edge again, then settles a few feet further back. "Isn't it beautiful?"

"It's all right," I reply, looking at the dirt under my feet.

"You need to learn to appreciate the beauty in the world, Lisbon," he says. He grabs my hand and pulls me beside him. "Look."

I can't appreciate the ocean like he does, not right now. I'm distracted and still a little angry at him. As I wallow in self-pity and frustration, I realise that he is looking at me. I meet his eyes briefly, then turn away.

"I'm not going to go out with Kim again," he says finally.

I shrug and try to sound nonchalant. "Okay."

"She's not my type anyway," he continues.

"Oh yes, and what is your type?" I ask him, eyebrows raised. "Karen?"

He has an odd look on his face, I cannot read him. For a moment I think that he is going to be serious, but an impish smile breaks out on his face. "No need to be jealous, Lisbon. If you want to go on a date with me, you only have to ask."

"Bite me," I say, giving him a backhanded slap on the arm.

He grabs my hand and holds it against where I hit him, then he looks down at me, eyes earnest. "You're right, I couldn't date you. If we- if we ever..." he pauses, swallowing. His hand reaches up as if to touch my cheek, but he pulls it away. "I couldn't lose you."

I stare back at him, unable to break eye contact this time. My throat dries up at the look of pain on his face, and for a long time I cannot speak. Finally he drops my hand and walks a few steps forward, looking into the distance. I allow myself to step forward, and I take his hand in my own.

"No," I say to him, feeling oddly brave. "No, you couldn't lose me. You couldn't lose me even if you tried."

He looks down at me with a small smile and squeezes my hand, then looks back out to the ocean. And so we stand there, fingers intertwined, watching the waves, the gulls, the sky.

 _I'm not going anywhere_ , I think, trying to project it into his mind. _Not without you._

* * *

We settle into a comfortable pattern over the next two days. When he teases me, I laugh, and when he flirts, I flirt too. Sometimes when we're talking he takes both my hands and smiles at me, and I smile back. It feels different, but not quite different enough. We don't speak of anything important, not to begin with, and I get the feeling that he needs a break from the intensity of the last week. I do too, but I remain agitated and confused.

On the third day, he is wearing a vest again. For some reason I am unsettled, and I find myself glancing over at him, trying to figure out what has changed. I know I should just ask, but by now I am tired of asking questions that never quite get answered, and I have no desire to frustrate myself any further.

After I return mid-morning with a coffee from the new stall down the road, I find him sitting at my desk. No one else is around.

"Saved you a spot," he says, patting his lap.

"You know what," I say. "I think I'd prefer the couch."

I lay down on the brown leather, shutting my eyes. I hear noise beside me, and he has knelt down by my head.

"Nice, huh?" he asks.

"I can certainly see why you like it," I reply.

"Well, it's a nice couch. It's an even nicer couch when you're on it," he says.

"Oh yes?"

"Yes. But you better get off it soon, because we've got a suspect to visit. Files are on your desk, no need to read them right now, I've already done that."

My eyes spring open and I jump to my feet.

He laughs. "Calm down, Lisbon. It only came through a few minutes ago. No need to panic, I've gone through all the details while you were slacking off getting coffee."

"Well we better go, are you coming?" I say.

He rises up with a groan. "Always in such a rush."

"Someone has to be," I reply.

* * *

The victims, twin girls, had been sliced open right up their abdomen.

"Clinical," Jane had said, grimacing at the bodies on the tables.

There had originally been very few suspects, apart from perhaps the parents, but they had an alibi. Our new suspect is a teenage boy, Forrest Chamberlain, whom Jane had spotted lingering around the cliffs the second time we visited the scene.

He has his parents with him in their dining room when we enter their house. We introduce ourselves briefly, and I take a seat at the table.

"So, Forrest, what was your relationship with Lucy and Harriet Grey?" I ask the boy.

He shrugs sullenly and doesn't meet my eye. "None really. They were pretty. I saw them around school. Very pretty."

The kid seems like a bit of a creep, but Jane is more interested in the photos around the room.

"Where's this?" he asks the parents. "Looks like a lovely spot."

"Bali, we went there a few years ago," the father replies. Jane puts the photo back on its stand and wanders into the next room. The parents watch him leave and I wave my hand dismissively at them.

"He's probably just getting a drink, don't mind him."

I hear the familiar sound of a kettle boiling and smile a little to myself.

"So, what do you want with my son?" the father asks me.

"We want Forrest to come in for questioning," I tell him. "You two can come, of course. Nothing to worry about, we just want to ask a few questions."

"There might be something to worry about," Jane's voice comes from the doorway. "Your kid is a little bit of a pervert, isn't he?"

"How dare you-" the mother starts, but Jane produces a pair of girl's panties from behind his back.

"You went in my room?" Forrest asks, face transformed with horror.

"Yes, I did. I like what you've done with the place. Very cool posters. Now where did you get these?"

He holds the panties in front of him with two fingers, looking both disgusted and pleased with himself.

"My son won't be saying anything else without a lawyer present," the father tells me.

* * *

On the drive back to headquarters I get another call from Fischer.

"Two more bodies," she says, her voice sounding tired and drawn. "Twins."

My stomach drops.

"A serial killer?" I ask.

"Certainly seems that way. Are you heading back?"

"Yes, the Chamberlain's are organizing a lawyer then they'll come in for questioning. We've got some girl's underwear that Jane found for forensics to test. Where are the new bodies, do you need us to go and look?"

She gives me directions and I hang up the phone. I look over at Jane and he has his eyes closed.

"Twins?" he asks, sounding nearly as weary as Fischer had.

"Yeah."

"This guy's a quick worker, four bodies in the space of a week. Doesn't seem like the work of a creepy teenager, does it?" he says.

"I don't know, Jane. Let's just go take a look."

* * *

Jane squats down beside the bodies. They are carved open like the Grey twins, a look of shock frozen on both their faces. The bodies are splayed out, but they are holding hands.

"Dominic and Darren Hall," I tell Jane, looking at the file that Fischer has handed me. He nods.

"So young," he says. The boys look no more than twelve, and when I look back at the file I see that I am right. Eleven years old.

I turn away from them, not able to look at their horrified expressions for any longer. I start to walk away, leaving Jane to examine them, but he calls me back. "Wait."

He is pointing at the opening in Darren's abdomen. "What's that?"

I call over Tom, the forensics investigator, and he carefully removes a plastic bag from inside the wound. He opens the bag and pulls out a note. Once he has read it, he looks up at Jane, his face pale.

"What?" Jane says. "What does it say."

Wordlessly, Tom turns the note around and shows it to us.

 _'Patrick, good to have you back. I never sent you my congratulations on catching Red John. Now let's see if you can catch me.'_

* * *

Jane doesn't speak for the rest of the day. We get forensics to double check the Grey girls, but there was no other note inside either of them. I send Jane home, not able to bear looking at his exhausted face any longer. I sit at my desk, going over all the evidence that we have gathered so far, but it is hard to concentrate. Finally, I give up and go home, determined to get a decent night's sleep.

My phone rings at 3:15 am. My hands fumble around my nightstand until I find it, then I answer.

"It's me," Jane says at the other end.

"What's going on, Jane? It's the middle of the night."

"Can I come over?"

"No. God. I was fast asleep, can't this wait?"

"Please," he says. I can hear a hint of a smile in his voice.

"You're not going to let me sleep are you?" I ask.

"No," he laughs at the other end.

"Ugh, fine."

* * *

I brush my hair and throw a sweater over the top of my pajamas. Looking in the mirror, I think better of it, and change into some jeans and a T-shirt. I apply a little mascara and consider myself. How do you dress for a visitor at this hour? _Not like this, try again Teresa._

I pull open my closet doors and rummage around, finally settling on a casual shirt. I leave the top three buttons undone and fluff my hair, then consult the mirror again. That'll do.

* * *

He is resting casually against the side of the door when I open it.

"Hi," he says, strolling into the room, looking around it like he's investigating a crime scene.

"What do you want? Is this about the note, because I-"

"I wanted to see you," he says. "Have you got any eggs?"

I sit down on my couch and watch him open cupboard doors and drawers in the kitchen.

"They're in the fridge," I say finally.

"Hmm. You're an 'eggs in the fridge' girl. Wouldn't have picked it."

He opens my fridge door and looks inside. I feel like he is reading my every secret from the contents and am unnerved. What do I have there? Milk? Is it past its expiry date? I don't remember.

"Scrambled?" He asks.

"Fine."

I get up and walk over to the counter. I sit at the bar stool and rest my elbows on the bench, head cradled in my hands.

"Why are you really here, Jane?" I ask with a sigh. He stops what he is doing and looks at me. I am sure he is not going to tell me, but his eyes soften and he lowers his eyes.

"I can't sleep." He shrugs. "And I was bored."

"So you decided to deprive me of my sleep too?"

He comes over and mirrors my position, leaning on the bench, chin in the palms of his hands.

"Yes, in fact. That was exactly my plan." He laughs a little then turns back to the eggs. But instead of cooking, he puts everything away and walks around behind me. He puts his hands on my shoulders and spins the bar stool around so that I am facing him.

"I'm sorry. I'm being selfish again. The eggs can wait until the morning if you really want to sleep."

I roll my eyes. "Well I'm awake now, do you want to go over case files? Tell me what you think about that note?"

"No, not really."

I am acutely aware that his hands are still on me. He bends down a little so his eyes are level with my own. He is sad, but his expression is readable for once and I feel my stomach flip.

"What did you mean when you said I couldn't lose you if I tried?"

I stare back at him, trying to quell my rising anger. This man is always playing games with me, messing with my mind. I don't know what he wants from me, and why he wants anything from me at all.

"I don't know, Jane," I say, standing up. I begin to pace around "What did you mean when you said you couldn't lose me? You were willing to run away from me when it suited you. I suppose now you're going to run off and catch this killer all on your own, I suppose you're going to take all this upon yourself and keep me in the dark again."

He follows me and once again puts his hands on my shoulders. I stop pacing. His hands move to my waist.

"Lets dance, I like dancing with you."

"You never answer my questions," I say. I know that I am visibly sulking but I don't care.

"And you never answer mine," he replies with a smile. "Dance?"

I don't want to dance with Jane. I don't want to be close to him. Not now.

"Fine," I say. Maybe he needs me, maybe I can help him.

He digs around in my CD collection and picks out something that I'm sure I've never listened to. It doesn't take long for my anger to melt away. It isn't like it is in the movies, dancing in your living room. It is slightly awkward, strange. How odd that it is easier to dance with an audience, with other people around, with other distractions. But his body moves with mine and his odd way of making me relax works, as it usually does.

He murmurs things to me as we dance, observations about my apartment. His voice is soothing, even when he teases me about my poor taste in furniture. My eyes are closed and I let my hand move up his back so that we are pressed tightly together. I let out a sigh, then am furious with myself for allowing him to hear.

"I meant that you are the one person that I couldn't bear losing," he says. "I thought it was obvious."

I stop dancing and pull back from him. I look up at him, full of unvoiced questions.

"It's not that obvious," I mumble back.

The look in his eyes is too much for me and I pull him back to me and start dancing again. This time our feet don't move, we just sway back and forth.

"You can sleep on the couch if you want, if it will help," I say finally. He laughs.

"I dunno, if you think it will help," I continue stupidly. He looks down at me. Then he kisses me on the forehead, his lips lingering on my skin. His eyes grow serious and he moves his arms to encircle my waist. Our bodies continue to sway to the music, and I move my arms around his neck. This is how I used to dance with the boys at high school dances, but it feels good now, here with him. He buries his face in my hair.

"It might help," he says, his voice muffled. "But I didn't come here to sleep."

I know that he can feel me tense up, and I hate him for being suggestive, even if he didn't mean it like that.

"You just came here to dance, then?" I ask. He kisses me on the forehead again and then nuzzles his face into my neck. It confuses me, all this affection. Am I just a convenience to him? Reliable? Someone that he knows will be there for him if he asks? Or is he truly rattled by that note.

"Something like that. You calm me, Teresa."

I wonder if this is true. I wonder how much pain he is in that he doesn't speak of. I wish I knew him like he knew me.

"Tell me," I say, not meaning to say it aloud.

"Tell you what?" He asks. I pull back from him yet again and for a while I am sure that I won't ask him, but I change my mind.

"Tell me why you're so sad, why you're here."

He lets go of me with one arm and spins me around so that he is holding me from behind. He lowers his head to my ear.

"I'm not sad now. That's why I'm here."

A riddle, avoiding the question yet again.

"Okay, Patrick. Okay." His name tastes foreign on my tongue. I won't push him. Maybe one day he'll find someone he can open up to. But it's clearly not me. I'm just a girl that he dances with in the middle of the night...

"You're not so much of an open book yourself," he murmurs into my ear. He's right, I guess. Maybe that's why we're not right for each other. We're closed off, unwilling to trust anyone. But he can read me, and I hate being at a disadvantage. So I am angry again. Unfairly, perhaps. I turn to face him.

"But you know me. You know what I'm thinking, what I'm feeling. It isn't fair."

He looks hurt, surprised. "No, Teresa. I can't. Not like you think. I don't know how you feel about..."

"Feel about what?" I narrow my eyes. Does he really not know? "How I feel about you?"

He pauses, then gives me a small smile. "Yes, I don't know how you feel about me."

"Then ask," I say. I challenge him with every ounce of my body. He looks afraid and he shakes his head. "No," he says. "No. I can't."

 _You won't, you mean_. Would I tell him the answer if he did?

"Then go home, Patrick. Please. I'm sick of these games."

He shakes his head again. "No."

He moves towards me and I retreat.

"Stop," he says. My mind wants to disobey but my body freezes. He reaches me and takes my face in his hands. His lips are inches from mine and I start to shake a little.

"I won't ask. But I'll tell you something, if you like," he says, a small sad smile playing on his lips.

"Tell me," I breathe. His thumb slides along my lower lip, I shut my eyes. I won't move away from him, not this time.

"I can't lose you," he says.

"You already said-"

His lips brush mine and I want desperately for him to kiss me, kiss me properly, but when I open my eyes he has pulled back.

"I'm scared," he says. I shake my head.

"No. No you're not. You don't have to be." I cannot bear for him to leave now, to stop holding me. I know I sound crazy, desperate even."You don't have to be," I repeat, moving forward. His eyes are bright with moisture as he stares down at me.

"Teresa..." he breathes. Our eyes lock, his hand runs up my neck to my jawline and he smiles gently at me. "Don't you know by now?"

"Know what?" I ask, eyes shut, lips trembling. He doesn't speak. "Tell me, Patrick. You know I have feelings for you, so just tell me."

He laughs and my eyes spring open. I am about to start yelling at him again but he is holding me by the shoulders now.

"You have feelings for me? That's it? After all these years?" he says with a disbelieving smile. Oh for God's sake, what more does he want from me? I start to pout but he takes my face in his hands.

"Well, Teresa. I have feelings for you too."

"You do?" I ask, raising my eyes to meet his, my heart pounding.

"Yes. In fact, I think I'd go so far as to say that..." he stops and looks earnestly into my eyes, "that I love you."

My mouth opens and I stare up at him.

"I love you," he says again. He says it softly, simply. I search his face and then his lips meet mine. I kiss him back. My body goes numb for a moment, but then I am aware of every inch of myself, of his hands on my face, my neck. When it finally ends his eyes are gentle, but I know that mine are full of fear. He strokes my hair and presses his forehead to my own.

"It's not a game," he says. "Not with you."

He kisses me again, harder this time, I can feel that he needs me, but still I feel afraid. _Do you mean it, Patrick?_

When we move apart, he is smiling. It is a nice smile, not mischievous, no deceit. He holds out his hand for me and I take it. We move to the centre of the living room and he holds me and begins to dance with me again in silence.

Finally he says- "Do you still want me to leave?" He is looking down at me, forehead furrowed, not trying to hide his concern. I could never explain to him how much it means to me when his face is unmasked like this, but I know that he can see it in my expression, in my stupid grin.

"Guess," I say.

He laughs. "I wouldn't want to be presumptuous."

I shake my head slightly then lean into him, my head on his chest. "Did you mean it?"

He kisses me on the head and encircles me in his arms. "Would I lie to you?"

 _Very clever, Patrick. Always so clever._


	6. Chapter 6

_Thought of the day: I have no thoughts today. I am a blank canvas._

 **A/N: Bit of a short chapter, I have another one nearly prepared but this one felt like it had a natural finishing point.**

* * *

He doesn't go home, but he falls asleep on the couch before anything else can happen. By now I am wide awake, and stare at his sleeping form in resentment. But as I look down at him I feel myself beginning to smile.

I try to rouse him, hoping that we can at least sleep in the same bed.

He smiles up at me sleepily and murmurs something about breakfast, but he doesn't open his eyes.

I am unwilling to leave him there, worried that I will wake up and he will be gone, so I sit against the base of the couch. His hand has fallen off the side and I rest my head on it and close my eyes.

I feel like I have just barely drifted off when I wake to his lips on mine. I force myself lucid and kiss him back, then I look up at him drowsily. His hair is wet and it appears he has lifted me onto the couch at some point.

"Morning," he says. "I helped myself to a shower, I hope you don't mind."

"What time is it?" I ask.

"It's breakfast time," he replies.

I look at my watch. It's not breakfast time, it's work time. We are nearly half an hour late.

"Shit," I say.

"Don't panic, I called Abbott and said we had things to do. He thinks we're out working on the case."

I sit up quickly, almost headbutting him in the face. "Well, we should be working on the case. We can grab something on the way."

"But I made eggs," he says, looking a little hurt.

I look over to the kitchen and my panic softens a little. There are two plates sitting there, two cups, one sunflower in a vase. I pull him down beside me and kiss him again. He tastes faintly of tea, and it takes me a while to fully comprehend that last night was real, not a dream, not a trick.

"Okay," I say, and he smiles his full Patrick Jane smile at me.

He loves me. This is really happening, and he loves me.

But now what?

* * *

"So, do you have a plan?" I ask Jane on the way to work.

"For what? For you?"

I laugh at him. "No, to catch our killer."

"Oh," he says. "Not really. Abbott wants me to write up a profile, but that sounds pretty boring. Don't the FBI have other people to do that?"

"Yeah, but they're probably not as good as you," I reply.

"You flatter me, Teresa. Flattery is a beautiful thing. I'll do it."

He puts his hand on my knee and I smile idiotically. Is this what it's going to be like? Feeling lightheaded and stupid and happy all the time?

"Any theories?" I ask. "Anyone from your past that might be out to get you?"

He laughs wryly. "There are a lot of people that could be angry at me, you know that."

I am quiet, running through a list of people in my head that he has angered. It is a long list, and I have no idea who else he has pissed off in his personal life, or in the time before the CBI.

"Exactly," he says, reading my thoughts. "Look, I don't think he really cares about me anyway. I think this guy is just looking for a connection with someone. Maybe he's jealous of Red John, or trying to mimic him, and decided that I would be the perfect nemesis."

"But why now, why did he suddenly appear almost as soon as you're back at work?"

He sighs. "This isn't going to be like Red John, Teresa. I won't let it take over my life. I don't think this is about me at all."

"Do you really think that, or are you just hoping?" I ask him.

He doesn't say anything for a long time. He looks out the window, and from the corner of my eye I can see a slight frown on his face.

"It's nothing to do with me," he finally says, as if to himself.

* * *

Though it remains unspoken between us, we don't tell anyone about the change in our relationship. And no one seems to notice, which I find odd, because I can't stop glancing over at him all morning, and every time he speaks I'm sure that the look on my face completely gives me away.

We don't get a moment alone until just after lunch. He has been dutifully writing out his profile and I have been listening to the recordings of the people that we've interviewed.

He walks into the break room where I am preparing a coffee.

"Hi," he says, appearing next to me. He leans over and kisses me quickly on the cheek. "What are we doing tonight?"

I feel my face heat up and I mix the milk into my coffee for much too long, then finally pull myself together and look him in the eye. "Come to my place?"

"Okay, but we'll need supervision. It's not appropriate for a good Catholic girl to be alone with a man like me. And I can't be responsible for my actions," he says with a grin. "I have just the man for it. Cho? CHO!"

"Shut up!" I say, punching him.

"Just kidding. I'll pick up some fresh clothes and meet you there?"

I nod. "How's the profiling business? Have you looked over the new case files yet?"

"No, maybe later. I'm just trying to sort it all out in my head at the moment."

I nod again.

He goes to leave but then he turns back to me. "I'm not going to freak out, or run away, or close up, or any of that. But I want you to know that I'm worried about you. I'm worried what this guy could do to you if he really is trying to get to me. I just wanted you to know that."

I am about to throw myself into his arms in melodramatic gratitude when Cho walks in. "You called me?" he says.

Jane chuckles. "False alarm, Cho. I thought Lisbon was in trouble, but turns out she's perfectly capable of dealing with a bit of trouble in her life."

* * *

By mid afternoon I am a nervous wreck. I can't stop thinking about underwear. Do I have any nice underwear? Do I have anything that matches? I resolve to go home early to get ready. I stand up from my desk and turn to Jane, prepared to deliver the most convincing lie of my life. Something about work, about suspects... do I still have that lacy red set sitting in my drawer?

"Don't stress, Teresa," he says to me gently.

I am thrown out of my head and back into the room. "Huh?"

"Don't stress. Everything is fine. No need no rush anything."

I screw my nose up at him. "I don't think you understand," I say. "There is definitely a need to rush."

He laughs at me loudly and so suddenly that Van Pelt knocks her coffee cup off her desk from across the room.

"Sorry, I'll get you a new one," Jane calls over to her. Then he turns back to me and speaks softly. "I only meant that there's a lot going on right now. But if you're in a rush, then I'm in a rush too."

I colour. "I was talking about finding the murderer."

I immediately regret my lie, but he just smiles at me. "If you say so. You're the boss."

"No," I say, gathering my wits. "I'm just a girl, standing in front of a boy, asking him to help her catch a serial killer."

He laughs again and Van Pelt glares over at him, wiping coffee from her legs.

* * *

Towards the end of the day I force Jane to look over the updated case files. He complains that he doesn't need to look at our 'boring cop stuff', but takes them from me anyway.

I walk to the elevator, planning to go home and go through my underwear drawer, but I hear his voice yelling from the couch- "Lisbon! Lisbon!"

I hurry back, immediately worried by the look on his face.

"Look," he says. "I can't believe I didn't notice before."

I look down at the picture in his hand, it is a picture of the Grey twins, but I can't see anything unusual about it.

"It's the smiles. All the photos I saw before were posed- forced family photos. But these..."

"What? What is it, Jane?"

He is pale, trembling a little. He pulls out his wallet and takes a small photograph from it. It is a picture of his wife. I am ashamed that my immediate reaction is jealousy, so I suppress it, and I take the photo from him.

"They look like her," he says, his eyes fixed on the photo of the twins. "They look just like she did when she was that age."


	7. Chapter 7

_Thought of the day: Just accidentally sent my agent a chapter of this fan-fiction instead of my edits of a few chapters that I've been working on. She was all "is this your idea of a joke?"_

 _She thinks she's so cool organizing my book for me and whatnot. Well, think again bitch, I got FF to write._

 **A/N: Another short one. It's pretty much Part 2 of the last chapter though, I just felt like they needed to be split up. Also, possible/probable M rated scene below (I don't know how these ratings work, the point is, there is gunna be sexy times).**

 **Edit: Hey guys I'm horribly busy at the moment and also I'm now into the more complicated part of this story. I'm working on the next 4 or 5 chapters now, and won't post the next one before I've figured out exactly where I'm going with it. But I'm getting there! Thanks for all your feedback it's been really helpful.**

* * *

I am transfixed by the photo of Angela Jane. It's possible that I have never seen someone look so happy. She is smiling radiantly at the camera. At the photographer.

I look back at Jane. He is looking just as intensely at the photo of the Grey twins as I am at the photo of his long dead wife.

By now, Rigsby and Cho have appeared behind me, alerted by Jane's cries. They look from the photo in my hands to the ones in Jane's.

"Shit," Cho says.

"What does it mean?" I whisper.

Jane looks up at us with a forced smile. "It might be nothing."

"Shit," Cho says again.

How did none of us notice? It's true that the photo of Angela that we are most used to is the one the media showed at the time of her death. An older Angela, an Angela holding a young girl in her arms. The photo in my hands was taken years before that, but the similarities to Lucy and Harriet Grey are uncanny.

"What about the Hall boys, do they look like... like anyone?" Van Pelt asks, appearing alongside us.

Jane opens the second case file and scans the pictures. "No," he says. "I don't think so."

He looks up at me helplessly and I cringe and close my eyes. "I don't know who it is," he says.

I want to sit with him, to hold him. But not in front of the team.

I turn to them. "Go and find everything you can about those girls. Anyone they've ever talked to, ever looked at."

One by one they leave and go back to their desks and I watch them walk away. Then I look down at the picture in my hands. It feels wrong, like I shouldn't be touching it. I hold it out to him, feeling a bit awkward. "Here."

He takes it wordlessly then gives me another strained smile. "Sorry."

"For what?"

He shakes his head. "You know. The picture. It's just always been in there, it's not-"

"It's fine," I say. I want to ask him to leave with me, right now. To go home, to deal with this tomorrow. But I don't. I stand there, looking down at him, lost for words.

"Not a coincidence after all," he says.

"No," I agree.

"I finished my profile," he tells me, handing me six napkins covered in nearly illegible scrawls. "Well, I thought I had anyway."

"Professional," I say.

"Sticking it to the man," he replies.

I hold the napkins gingerly, then finally put them in the top drawer of my desk. "Jane?"

"Yeah?"

"Do you want to get out of here?"

He gets up and puts the files in the drawer with the napkins. He looks down at the picture of his wife, considering it, then puts it in the drawer too.

He turns to me. "Not the most original pick up line, Lisbon, but I'll let it slide."

* * *

He insists on making me dinner and I don't argue with him. While we eat, I try to decide whether I should be asking him about the case, or distracting him from it.

When he finishes his plate, he waits for me, then takes both the plates to the dishwasher. Then he walks back, moves his seat closer to mine, and puts his hands on my thighs.

"In detention," he starts, wary, uncertain, "in detention I had a lot of time to think."

He looks down at his hands and I wait for him to continue.

"I thought about you. I thought about what was best for you, and if it was me."

"You don't get to choose what's best for me," I say, and he grimaces.

"That's not what I meant. I mean, I was trying to figure out if I was ready for you. To be what you need. I decided that I wasn't."

"You can't just decide-"

"Oh shut up, Teresa," he says. "I can decide what I want, and you can decide what you want. And at the time, I decided that I wasn't ready. I hope that doesn't..." his upper lip twitches with suppressed laughter, "...displease you."

I frown, and his smile breaks through. "I'm always displeasing you, aren't I?"

"You're a bit difficult sometimes," I say, refusing to bite.

He chuckles. "Don't be ridiculous, I'm an absolute delight and you know it."

When I begin to smile back, he touches my lips. "I'm trying to be serious. Sorry. What I'm trying to say is that I've loved you for a long time, Teresa."

I lean forward and kiss him, not able to stop myself. He pulls away after a while. "I haven't finished talking, woman, control yourself."

I laugh this time, and kiss him again. He feigns anger, but pulls me onto his lap.

"I'm trying to tell you how much you mean to me, you shameless hussy," he says. "Do you want to hear it or not?"

"It would me much more fun if you showed me," I reply.

* * *

My bravado dims when I remember the events of the day. The picture of his wife had rattled me. And reminded me of all the reasons that we have been keeping each other at arms length.

"I don't want to pressure you..."

He laughs. "I'm not a virgin, Teresa. Do you think I won't know what I'm doing?"

I blush. "I didn't mean-"

He takes my face in his hands and kisses me. When it ends, I begin to apologize, but he kisses me again in resistance. His hands are on my ribs, and he slowly forces me to retreat until we are both by the door to the hall.

"I don't mean to alarm you," he says. "But I haven't been a hundred percent celibate all these years. I think I can do... what's required."

I suppress any questions about his prior women, mostly because his lips are holding mine hostage, but also because I realize that I have been naive about him. Yes, maybe he was telling the truth when he said he has loved me for a long time, but he isn't a saint, far from it. I shouldn't expect him to act like one. I don't want him to act like one.

He feels my insecurity and stops kissing me. His eyes are hard when he looks at me. "You're the boss," he says.

"Since when?" I reply.

And so he opens the door to the hall, grabs me by the waist and pulls me through. He pushes me against the wall outside the bedroom and kisses my lips, pausing sometimes to gaze down at me in mild surprise, as if I have only just appeared in front of him. His hands never leave my body, and my body aches.

Finally, he pulls himself back and opens the door to my bedroom. He holds out a hand, gesturing for me to enter. "After you."

As soon as I have walked through the door, his hands grip my hips, shutting the door behind him with a kick of his foot. He presses me against it, his lips once again on mine. I can't breathe. _I can't breathe._

He begins to unbutton my blouse, pausing every now and then to kiss the skin that he reveals. He peels it off me, his palms grazing my skin. I begin to shake, and can't control it.

"Are you okay?" he asks.

I nod. I move my hands inside his jacket and slide it off his shoulders. "Stop talking."

He grins at me and puts his hands under my upper thighs, lifting me off the ground and pinning me fully to the wall. His smile dims and our lips intertwine and my breath becomes shallow, sharp. My hands run over him and I can't think straight, can't get through the cotton.

He lowers me to the ground and takes my hand, helping me unbutton his vest, his shirt. His breath is hoarse when my fingers finally meet his skin, and his hands move from mine down to my buttocks.

When I finally manage to open my eyes, I see a long white scar on his stomach. He cringes when I touch it.

"Who did that to you?" I ask.

"No one, no one," he replies, breathless and lost. He lowers his face to my breasts and kisses them over and over again. When he looks back up at me his eyes are moist and I feel myself dissolve into his arms.

"Are you sure you're okay, Teresa?" he asks again, smoothing my hair back as he pushes against me. I don't reply but I know that he can feel my response.

He kneels down and takes my shoes off one by one, a finger running over the coarse skin of my heel, then his hands glide up my legs to my zipper, sliding my pants off me.

He gently lifts me onto the bed and runs his hands over me, into me. I tense, and relax. Breathe, and suffocate under his touch.

I look up at him as he enters me, my eyes wide, my lips parted and trembling. His own eyes smile down at me, full of everything that he has lost, everything that he has found.

 _Yes, I'm happy, Patrick._


	8. Chapter 8

_Thought of the day: This type of writing is all very strange for me, it is very different from my usual writing style- more dialogue, less detail, muuuch less editing. It's more fun though._

 **A/N Not sure if I'm contradicting canon from previous seasons in this, pretty sure I'm not (apart from the fact the CBI team are in Austin too), but if I am then oh well- might be venturing deeper into AU territory. I have a terrible memory. I think it's because of all the wine.**

 **Also, apparently I'm just writing short chapters now. Not sure when/if that will change!**

* * *

I lie nestled under his arm. Neither of us have slept much, but I feel rested for the first time since I came to Austin.

"We have to talk about the Twin Killer," I say. "This has been... this has been nice, Jane. But-"

"Nice? Wow."

"Oh shut up. You know what I mean," I say, flushing. "But we have to get back to reality."

He runs a blunt fingernail down my shoulder. "Twin Killer. Hmm, I'm sure we can come up with a better name than that. Probably shouldn't though, killers love a good sobriquet."

"I'm serious. What do you think it means about..."

"That they look like Angela? Honestly, I don't know. But someone has certainly gone to great lengths to get my attention. What are the chances of finding twins here in Austin that look so similar to her? Must have been planning this for much longer than a few weeks."

"And just waiting for you to come back? How did he even know that you were coming back at all? I certainly didn't." I try to keep the bitterness out of my voice.

He kisses me on the forehead, then again on the mouth. A silent apology. "I don't know. But we'll figure it out. We always do, right?" he replies with a uneasy smile.

"Right," I reply. "And you'll keep me in the loop this time? No secret games or tricks?"

"Only if you say no when I suggest them."

I hit him across the chest. It is probably unfair of me to ask him to change, the intricate plots are part of who he is. And maybe it will take a while for him to completely open up to me, in his mind he has been alone for a long time. I just have to show him that he has me now. He always did.

"I'm not going to come in to work this morning," he tells me.

"Oh?"

"Just show everyone the profile I wrote, I'll be in after lunch."

I make a mental note to have someone type the profile up properly, the last thing I need is for people to start questioning my professionalism this early on in the job.

"What are you going to do?" I ask him.

"I just have to go somewhere for a bit."

I sigh. Already with the secrets. "Please just tell me. Don't go doing anything stupid that will get us all in trouble."

He kisses me again. "I don't know where I'm going to go. I just need to go somewhere quiet to think for a while. Is that okay?"

I nod. "Sorry. I trust you."

He smiles at me, wrapping his arms around me and pulling me against him. "You trust parts of me. Other parts, not so much. It's okay, we're both still learning."

He's right. Of course. I only hope that he'll let me keep learning, that nothing will trip us up.

* * *

When I open the drawer to retrieve Jane's napkins, the first thing I see is the photo of his wife. She is a teenager in this picture, and in the background is a ferris wheel and a row of stalls. This was taken before they ran away, before they got married, before Charlotte. Before she died and turned Patrick Jane into a haunted man. I hurriedly put it back in the drawer. I'll give it back to him later.

I bring out the napkins and gather the team together in the conference room. Fischer is looking at me quizzically but I avoid eye contact. I still don't know if she has real feelings for Jane, and this is not the time to think about that situation.

"We'll have to sort these out and type them up properly," I tell everyone. "But I thought if you all knew what Jane is thinking then we could at least get started on a list of suspects."

"Where is Jane?" Van Pelt asks.

"He'll be here later," I reply.

I arrange the napkins in front of me on the table and pick up what appears to be the first one. The notes are written in bullet points. Snippets of Jane's mind, no full sentences, not at all in a logical order. I begin to read aloud.

 _-Lonely and attention seeking, obviously trying to forge a bond with someone, hence the note. Not sure why me. Trying to copy Red John connection?_

 _-Unhinged, deranged. No pattern in how victims were left so far. Probably good at hiding it, or just learning to hide it- otherwise how would he lure victims to go with him?_

 _-Unmarried. No close family._

 _-Maybe has medical training or is a hunter. Incisions on victims very precise. Unsure of significance of incisions. Cause of death in Hall twins, maybe not in Grey twins. Cliff important._

 _-Good knowledge of forensics, no real evidence left at scene. Careful researcher. Or knows someone who has taught him._

 _-Unusual that first victims are teenage girls and second are young boys. Possible connection to children in his own life or mine._

 _-Probably knew the Grey's beforehand, thrown off cliff suggests anger and personal connection. Halls collateral- to show prowess?_

 _-Significance of twins? Symbolic of something?_

I finish reading then gather the napkins into a pile.

"Can someone turn this into a real profile and make copies?" Fischer asks. "Rigsby, Van Pelt- have you made any progress on that list of people related to the Grey twins? Jane seems to think they're the key to all of this."

"We have a list of people to question, but none of them have any priors- well apart from a few outstanding parking tickets," Rigsby replies.

Fischer turns to me. "Call Jane, get him in here. We need a plan."

* * *

He arrives just after lunch. He has yet another napkin in his hands and he comes straight over to me.

"I have a theory," he says. "Well, I have multiple theories, actually."

I hand him the typed up version of his profile along with the rest of the case files, but he puts them back down on my desk. "That profile needs to be changed. Now that I know it's about me."

He waves the napkin at me but when I go to take it, he pulls it away.

"Not yet. I have to go back to the crime scenes. And I have to talk to the families again."

I stand up to go with him but he shakes his head. "No. Just me. I'll call you later."

He is businesslike, completely lacking his usual guile and humour. I am not sure whether to be worried, but I decide to let him be. I realize that even though he is trying his hardest to be genuine, there are still parts of his brain that he doesn't realize are closed off.

"Okay. Don't get into any trouble."

He gives me a wry smile. "I won't promise that."

* * *

Maybe he regrets not telling me his theories earlier, because he sends me texts throughout the afternoon updating me on what he has discovered.

The first one says, "Grey girls saw a psychic. Suspicious. Going to find her. Name is Lexi Flain. Probably fake name. Let me know."

Oh great, I think. Psychics always send him off the deep end. When I look her up I don't find anything to start with, but when I recruit Van Pelt to help me, we discover an Alice Flain that goes by Lexi on social media. She is only twenty but she lives in Austin. Rigs and Cho offer to hunt her down.

I send Patrick a message to let him know, and the reply comes an hour later. "Thanks. Found another of her clients. Says she did readings from behind a screen. Doesn't know what she looks like. Got his number. Question him later?"

I reply in agreement. This is definitely strange, from what Jane has told me, psychics do their best work when in close vicinity to their clients and are able to touch them, inspect their microexpressions.

The third text arrives just before I am about to go home. "Went to Hall house. No one home. Broke in (sorry). Look up the Uncle- Vincent Hall. Carny."

My heart sinks at this. I have been in denial, wishing and praying that something will show up that proves this murderer is not after Jane, that it's all a coincidence. But now there is a connection between him and the Hall twins, I have to admit to myself that I don't believe in coincidences any more than Jane does.

I send him a message saying that I'm going home and that I hope I will see him there later. He doesn't reply.

* * *

I sit in front of my TV, periodically glancing at my phone and feeling like a jilted teenager. It is almost eight-thirty and I haven't heard from Jane since I left the office. I am not sure whether I should be worried, or angry, or anything at all. Should I call him? I can't remember what to do in a normal relationship, let alone figure out how to deal with Patrick Jane.

He bursts through the door just after nine. "I'm sorry, I'm sorry, my phone died."

Even though I've been stuck in my own head for the last half hour, I find that I can't be upset with him. All my negative thoughts dissipate and I stand up to hug him, trying to hide the relief that echoes through my body.

"What else did you find out?" I ask him.

He grabs my face and kisses me hard, then pulls back. "Later. I'll tell you later."

"Jane-"

"I will, I truly will, I promise. But this is, what, our third night as a couple? Let's not let some psycopath ruin this for us."

I nearly slump in his arms. He's right. I don't want this relationship to become all about work. We can be together, be happy, and still be good at our jobs. It's possible. It has to be possible.

"I got you something," he says softly in my ear.

I pull back and he holds his hand up to me, his fingers tightly wound around something.

"Well give it to me then," I say impatiently.

"No need to be rude," he replies, putting his hand behind his back.

I feel like stamping my feet but my face clearly shows it all, because he laughs at me and saunters into the kitchen. "I'm not giving it to you until your attitude improves, young lady."

I snort. "Young? You're not going to win me over with lies, Patrick."

He follows me and grabs me from behind, his arms encircling my waist. "You're right, you're a hideous old crone and you don't deserve any gifts from me."

I elbow him in the stomach, but a bit too hard. His hands drop and he doubles over.

"Jeez woman, careful. I'm no spring chicken myself, can't take a hit like I used to."

Before I can apologize he laughs it off, then places something in my hand. It is a pair of green earrings. The same pair, in fact, that he gave me many years before when we were investigating the murder of Jim Myers.

"I kept them," he says. Then with a grin, "I gave the necklace back like you told me to. Because although I am absolutely terrified of disobeying you, Lisbon, I'm also a strong, independent man."

I throw my arms around his neck, the earrings still clutched in my left hand, and kiss him.

"Thank you," I say, feeling like it is too much and too little to say. Did he keep them all these years just waiting for the perfect occasion to give them back to me? Or maybe he thought he might give them to someone else.

"Don't overthink it," he tells me. "I quite liked them, so I thought I'd keep them."

He brushes my hair from my neck and pushes the earrings through the unadorned holes in my earlobes.

"Beautiful," he says with a soft smile.

I kiss him again, pushing him backwards until his spine hits my fridge. He laughs into my lips, but doesn't pull away. I take off his jacket and start to unbutton his shirt and then remember something.

"Should I put these in the wash? Did you bring a change of clothes?"

He laughs again. "I picked the Airstream up, I have all the clothes I need. Right in your driveway. Did you think I pulled those earrings out of nowhere?"

He smiles down at me and I wonder how I had ever managed to look at him without throwing myself into his arms. How the hell did I cope for so many years without touching him? Almost as if in a trance I put my hands on his half-bare chest and stare at them as they move up to his shoulders. He takes my face in his hands and pulls my gaze back up to meet his. His eyes are earnest. "I love you. You believe me, don't you?"

I nod. "Yes. I believe you."

He runs his fingers from my cheek down my neck, my shoulder, my arm, then takes my hand in his.

"The kitchen is no place to seduce a house guest, Teresa. Have I taught you nothing?"

* * *

It's cold in my room, I assume colder than it is outside. I look at my bedside clock. 4am.

My head is tucked between his head and his shoulder and I suddenly realise that I am uncomfortable. As I gingerly move myself, he wakes.

"That was a good sleep," he says.

"It's only been five hours."

He beams at me. "Five hours already? Excellent."

I don't respond. I want to ask him about the things he promised to tell me, but I am an eight-hour-a-night type of human and I still want to be able to do my job in the morning. Sleep or talk? Talk or...

Luckily, or perhaps unluckily for me, Patrick makes that decision for me. "It's bad, Teresa. It's bad. Whoever it is wants to hurt me," he says with a sigh.

I roll over to face him. "Didn't we already figure that out?"

He leans over the side and brings his discarded trousers up onto the bed. He reaches into the pocket and pulls out the napkin. I don't reach for it this time, because he lets me see him, see his fear. I wriggle a bit closer to him and force myself to be silent, to turn off the cop in me.

He swallows. "He threw Harriet and Lucy off a cliff. He hated them. I think that means he hated Angela."

I put my hands on top of his and rub them gently with my thumbs. His face is troubled, his whole body tense.

"You figured something useful out then?" I ask, and he pauses, then places the napkin in between us, smoothing it with his palm for just a moment.

He has written a list of names, some of them I recognise- Danny Ruskin, Sean Barlow. Others don't mean anything to me. But they are all crossed out. Then, down the bottom, written in thick pen, is another name which is not crossed out. The letters have almost made holes in the napkin, as if he has traced them over and over again.

"No," I say. "It can't be. I thought he was dead?"

"So did I. Well, I assumed he was, we all did. He just left one day and no one heard from him again."

"But he'd be..." I do some mental math but come up short. "Old. Do you really think he's capable of this? Really, Patrick?"

"You don't know..." his voice hitches. "You didn't know him. There are things I haven't told you."

I look back down at the napkin, at the eight letters printed so deliberately.

 _Alex Jane_.


	9. Chapter 9

_Thought of the day: Husband has caved and let me put a poster of Simon Baker on the bedroom wall. I feel like a teenager again._

 **A/N: My process at the moment is that I flesh out a large portion of my draft, then go back and start editing in chapter-size portions. So there will be weeks where I post a bunch of chapters, then probably a lengthy break before I start posting again.**

 **Also thank you all so, so, so much for reading, and for your lovely reviews. Makes me happy :) I'm also making my way through a bunch of your stories. I will try to make my reviews as thoughtful as you guys have, but I keep getting engrossed and moving onto the next chapter so won't be reviewing every single chapter at this stage! Thank you again.**

 **This chapter is a bit light on plot development because I was feeling like writing something cheesy. Jeez my author's notes are real essays huh.**

* * *

Patrick is insane, I think to myself, looking skeptically at him. He's gone completely insane. How could he possibly think this.

"No," I say stupidly, not able to think of anything constructive.

"Maybe it's a stretch," he replies. "But there are a lot of coincidences. The psychic's name- Lexi. And my father hated Angela. Once he once caught us up by Fort Benton River on the edge of the cliffs. I was meant to be doing a private reading with him, it was the third one I'd skipped in a week. I swear he almost pushed us over the edge he was so angry. That was the day we ran away."

"I'm sorry, Patrick. I'm sorry he was like that. But is- was he really a killer?"

He swings his legs over the side of the bed and starts to get dressed. 4:13am. Not the time for getting dressed, not for normal people anyway.

"He was a lot of things," he says, sitting on the bed as he laces his shoes. "He could be cruel, vindictive. Too smart for his own good."

He turns and considers me. His forehead is creased and I can see words struggling to escape his lips, I can see him fighting himself, forcing himself to tell me something. I grab his hand and squeeze it tight and he lets out a rush of air.

"The apple didn't fall too far from the tree," he says, casting his eyes downwards.

I almost throw myself onto him, horrified. I wrap my arms around his neck and bury my face into his morning stubble murmuring, "no, no, no."

He strokes my back. "It's okay, Teresa. I know I'm not completely the same as him. He was a very violent man when he wanted to be. He picked fights with people, pulled his gun on clients that wouldn't pay up, all sorts of things. You know how much of a coward I am when it comes to physical confrontation. But part of him is in me, and that is something I have to live with."

I am nearly in tears. I can't bear to hear him speak about himself like this but I don't know how to reassure him so I just kiss his neck, his face, over and over again.

He gently pushes me back from him and smiles at me. "You should go back to sleep, Teresa. I know how grouchy you get when you're tired."

"And you?"

"I'm much better at controlling my grouchiness, I think I'll be fine."

He fluffs a pillow for me and lays me back down. He kisses me on the forehead and smooths my hair back like I am a small child. "I love you. And I'll be okay. I'm just going to go outside and enjoy the morning, I'll be back in a few hours. And hey, can we keep this between us for now? The stuff about my father? Just until we know a bit more."

"Okay," I reply.

I watch him swing his jacket over his shoulders as he leaves the room, then close my eyes and force myself back to sleep.

* * *

We drive to work in the Airstream. Patrick drives as if he's racing the rattly old thing against time itself, yet I manage to stop myself from nagging him to slow down.  
"It doesn't fit in the parking building," he says to me, pulling over by a cafe. "Let's grab some tea and walk the rest of the way in. Lovely day."

I am in a much better mood after my second round of sleep, so I even let him convince me to have some tea instead of my usual coffee.  
"You won't regret it, Lisbon. Best tea in the neighborhood." He winks at the barista and I prickle with jealousy. These last few days I have realized that I have the emotional maturity of a sixteen year old when it comes to Jane, and the worst part is that I'm sure he knows it.

He grins at me as we near headquarters. "We should do this every day."

"Oh yes, and what if it rains?"

"Nothing wrong with a bit of rain. Do you know that the New Zealand Maori people believed that you could make it rain by touching certain sacred objects- rocks, trees, all sorts of things."

He bends down and picks up a small stone, then frowns and tosses it away. "Not that one. Not sacred enough."

He turns to me and lifts me off the ground. "Maybe this one will work."

"Put me down, Patrick," I laugh, struggling in his arms. "I'm not a toy!"

He puts me down and grins at me, one eyebrow raised. "Oh I disagree. You're my favorite toy, actually. Very bendy."

* * *

Even with the added walking time, we are much earlier than the rest of the team. I find that I like the office when it's quiet, when it's just me and Patrick.

As soon as I sit down at my desk, I remember the photo of Angela. I bring it out and swing my chair around to face Jane's couch. "You should have this back."

He shakes his head. "No, put it in the file. So that anyone who reads it can see the similarities. Otherwise I'm just going to sound like a crazy person."

I hold it out in front of me still, staring at him, trying to find the right words. I sit beside him and try to place the photo on his knee, but he just hands it back to me.

"I don't feel right, putting it in a folder. You really should have it back," I say.

He cocks his head at me, thoughtful. Perhaps trying to read if this snapshot of his past has upset me. "I have another one," he says finally, pulling a small polaroid from his wallet. "I'll keep this one."

It is a photo of all three of them- Patrick with a goofy grin on his face, his small daughter in his arms, and Angela smiling up into his eyes. My breath catches in my throat. Will he ever be that happy again?

"You never framed any of these?" I ask. "Displayed them anywhere?"

He shakes his head. "I wanted to keep them just for me. It didn't seem right having everyone look at them, being reminded what happened to me every time they walked past. Now... it's different now. But I wouldn't want to... wouldn't it be weird for you? Sitting here on my couch looking at a picture of my wife?"

I shake my head, a little too vigorously. "No, not at all. It's okay that you still miss her, still love her."

He smiles. "I know. I'm trying to be sensitive to you though, don't fight it, Lisbon."

"Ha. Sensitive. You?"

He feigns hurt but I am suspicious that he is also legitimately hurt under all the acting, so I kiss him on the cheek and say, "sorry. You're the very picture of sensitivity. Really."

"Well, put that one in the file. Please. I'm not as attached to it as you may think. I like to remember Angela as the woman in this polaroid. That's who she really was. A mother, a wife- she stopped being that carny girl the day we ran away."

He smiles at me, and he seems genuine, so I do as he says and place the file back in the drawer.

* * *

Jane tells Fischer that he has a list of people that might be involved, and that he'd like to go visit his friends Sam and Pete at the circus next time they are nearby. Fischer insists that he immediately find out where they are, and says that she will book flights.

"I'll come with you," she adds. "Someone has to bring the muscle."

Jane smiles and shakes his head dismissively. "Oh, they're harmless. I'm sure I'll be fine."

"Well, I'm coming all the same," she replies.

I feel the now-familiar twinge in my stomach and frown at my screen, pretending not to be listening in.

"Very well, if you insist," Jane says.

Fischer walks away to find Abbot, and Jane comes up behind me and puts his hands on my shoulders. "Don't worry, I'll ditch her in the horror maze."

"I'm not worried," I say, pouting.

He starts to walk towards the break room, but then I remember our earlier conversation and get an idea. "Hey, can I borrow some cash? I'm going to get a muffin."

He throws me his wallet. "Not like you to be short of money, Lisbon. But go ahead. Bring me back something nice."

As he walks away a small smile grows on my face. Did I just con Patrick Jane? I hurry to the elevator, clutching his wallet in my hand.

* * *

Jane leaves the office just after lunch to see if he can find out anything about where the circus is. I put the result of my morning plotting on his table, then notice Rigsby looking over, and pick it back up. I'll have to wait until later, I'm not ready to answer any questions about this relationship yet.

By mid afternoon I am getting restless, and starting to question myself. I call Jane on his cell.

"Lisbon? What's up?"

"When are you coming back?" I ask. I swear at myself, I have never been good at hiding the impatience in my voice.

"Why, can you not bear to be apart from me? That's sweet."

"Shut up, I was just wondering."

He laughs at the other end. "I'll be back to pick you up, don't worry I wouldn't leave you stranded there. Meet me outside at five."

* * *

I stand outside scuffing my feet on the concrete. The Airstream pulls up outside security and he beeps the horn at me. _Shit, how am I going to do this._

I beckon him over and he leaps from the driver's door and comes to meet me.

"What's up? Are you coming or not?"

"I forgot something. I have to go back up," I say.

He looks at me with a suspicious frown, but shrugs. "Okay, I'll wait here."  
"Come up with me, we can have a cup of tea before we go home."

The lines on his forehead deepen, but he follows me back into the building, glancing over at me every now and then.

In the elevator, he turns to me. "We leave tomorrow, to visit Pete and Sam. Back on Thursday," he says. "I'll miss you."

"It's two days, Jane. I'm sure you'll be fine."

He frowns at me again. "Well, okay Miss Independent. But I'll miss you all the same."

We walk back into the bullpen and my heart starts to race as we near his couch. Maybe I shouldn't have done it, maybe he won't like it.

"What's that?" He asks, picking up the framed photo that I placed on the table moments earlier. He stares down at it and my heart is in my throat. When he looks up at me his eyelashes are wet.

"You did this?"

I nod. The hammering in my chest gets louder.

"You tricked me," he says, a disbelieving smile appearing on his face. "This is... Teresa... this is-"

He puts the frame down and pulls me into a hug.

"Thank you," he says. "It means a lot."

The pounding inside of me stills, and I start to feel like I am made of liquid. It seems I am capable of surprising him after all.

"Well, seeing as you've upped your game, I better up mine too," he says to me.

"Oh yes?"

"Yes. A real date. Tonight. We'll leave the house and everything. I'll take you home to get changed first."

I grin at him. "Dress code?"

"Casual. Very casual. I like a challenge, but I have a feeling I won't be in the mood for a struggle with any buttons or zips."

He looks down at the picture on his table once more, then smiles down at me.

"It will be nice, having them here, watching me nap," he says.

I laugh. "Okay come on. I need to get changed, remember."

He holds my hand as we exit the building. I'm starting to feel like this is real, a real relationship. With Patrick Jane. How odd.

He opens the passenger door of the Airstream for me and waits before I am fully inside before making his way to his side.

As he starts the engine, I turn to him. "I don't think it would be appropriate for you to wear something with buttons if I'm not allowed."

"Oh really?" he says, raising his eyebrows.

"Really. It's a bit hypocritical."

He chuckles. "Okay, okay. So demanding."

* * *

I pick out a simple black dress. Loose fitting. Very easy to take off. I shake my hair loose and go outside to find Patrick. He has taken the Airstream somewhere and isn't back yet, so I sit on the step and breathe in the evening air. It's not so bad, appreciating the world like this. Jane has been a good influence on me in that respect.

The Airstream tears around the corner moments later, I stand and when he doesn't open the door for me, I knock.

"Just a second," he calls from inside. I hear him shuffling about, and then his footsteps as he comes to the door. When he opens it I nearly gasp. He is wearing denim shorts and a white t-shirt. He looks younger. And sexy. Very sexy. I stand there agape for much too long and he laughs and pulls me inside.

"You like? I asked Rigsby for something casual and he gave me these. His exact words were 'keep them, Grace says I'm too old for shorts'."

I nod dumbly. "Yes, I like."

"Good. Now do you want to guess where we're going?"

"No, tell me."  
"You have to guess! Come on. You're a detective."

I look at him. Where would he take a date? Not a restaurant, not for our first proper date, he's much too proud of his unpredictability for that. So that rules out the cinema too.

"Nature? Something with nature? The beach? A picnic?"

"Not even close," he chuckles triumphantly. "But I'll give you a clue. You're probably going to be a bit angry with me at first."  
"We're breaking into somewhere," I reply immediately. "Please tell me we're not doing anything illegal."

"Well, illegality is very subjective," he tells me with a wink.

"No it's not, Jane. The law is very clear about breaking and entering."

He just laughs again, and soon he pulls up outside a small shopping mall.

"Oh God, we're not breaking into here are we?"

"Not exactly. I know a guy who knows a guy. I've got a keycard and everything, no breaking in required."

I sigh. But I decide to 'live a little' as he always tells me to. Maybe I'm a bit uptight, maybe it wouldn't be so bad to relax my morals for one night.

"As long as we aren't going to end up in jail, then fine. Let's do it."

I am pleased to see that he is surprised by this, he obviously expected more of a fight.

He grabs my hand and leads me around to the staff entry. The lock beeps as he holds the keycard against it, and he pushes the door open for me.

"Marla left us a picnic on the roof terrace upstairs," he says.

"And who's Marla?"

"The girl that left us food on the roof terrace. I just said that."

I shake my head with a smile. "Okay, well how do we get up there then."

"We have to do something very important first," he says. He leads me to the small cinema near the door we have come in, and points at a photo booth. I shrug and follow him, quite enjoying giving up my need for control for once. He inspects the cord coming from the booth, and traces it around until he finds the power socket, then plugs it in.

"Hop in," he says, pushing me through the red curtain.

He takes a bunch of pictures, at first I am stiff and look a little like I've been kidnapped, but I start to loosen up and the last few pictures make us look like any normal couple in love. He prints them out and carefully rips one off the bottom, passing the rest to me.

He pulls out his wallet, gives me a small smile, and slides the picture in beside the one of his family.

"I need to look at your face just as much as I need to look at theirs," he says to me. I kiss him, words failing me again. A common occurrence these days it seems.

* * *

After we have eaten, we lie back on the ground and look at the stars. Jane knows stories about every single constellation and I try to remember everything he tells me. Probably about time I built my own memory palace.

I look over at him in his plain t-shirt and his shorts. I like this version of him. I'm finding that I like most things about him, even the things that I thought I hated.

"Your turn to guess," I say to him.

"Okay, what am I guessing?"

"Guess what I'm wearing under my dress."

He sits up suddenly and runs his eyes over my body. "I don't want to guess, I like it when you surprise me."

"Oh go on, if you figure it out I'll give you a prize."

I sit up too, and let him continue eyeing me, feeling a bit more daring than I'm used to.

"Uh," he says, then clears his throat. "Uhh, red?"

I laugh. "Red what?"

He shakes his head as if to snap himself back into the moment. "Red underwear?"

"Close enough," I say. "Now you can have your prize."

I lift my dress over my head and enjoy the dumbfounded expression on his face. I had never imagined that I had any power over him, let alone the ability to render him speechless.

"That's a good prize," he says hoarsely. "I mean, I was hoping for money, but this is good too."

* * *

I sit facing him. We have finally managed to put our clothes back on, and keep them on. The first attempt had been thwarted by my fast-growing attraction to Jane in casualwear.

His hands encase mine and he kisses them. "How do you feel?"

"Good," I reply.

I look into his eyes. I have spent years ordering this man around, pretending to be annoyed with his compliments, playing the boss. But now, looking at him under the night sky, I find that I am nervous, shy even. I realize that I have been confused by my own thoughts, and it dawns on me that he has been exercising a great amount of patience. _I'm scared_ , I think, finally admitting it to myself. Patrick Jane may call himself a coward, but he is the one who has been revealing himself to me, while I haven't even been able to say the words that I need to say.

"Jane?" I say, wincing a bit as the blood rushes to my face. _Get a grip, Teresa_.

"Yes, Lisbon?"

"I'm sorry that I haven't- I'm sorry that-" the words are in my throat. _What's wrong with me._

"What is it?"

"I love you," I finally choke out.

"You're sorry that you love me?" he asks, chuckling. I frown a little, and he sobers. "I know you do. Thank you for saying it though. You know how I like to be adored."

He pulls my face up to his and kisses me deeply. Then he inspects me, his fingers tracing my lips. He starts to say something but thinks better of it, and I don't push him. It's my turn to learn how to act like a real human now.

"I'm not scared," I say. "Well, I'm trying not to be."

He shakes his head slightly. "It's okay, Teresa. I have years of being a spineless fool to make up for. Take your time."

"It's not you. It's me. I'm just-"

"You're just stealing bad lines from movies? Seriously, it's okay."

I stop myself from blurting out anything else ridiculous. I sigh, and lean into him.

"You can tell me you love me again though. That would be nice," he murmurs. I look up at him and touch the small smile playing on his mouth with my fingertips. I don't need to be scared, I'm sure of it. I just need my deep-set inhibitions to catch up with the rest of me.

"I love you, Patrick," I say, and this time the words come easily.


End file.
